More Than Words
by Aerenii
Summary: AU. After the death of Jimmy Darmody, Richard moved to New York City and started working for Meyer Lansky. By 1925 Richard was convinced he didn't care about anything or anyone. But thanks to an irresponsible gambler, Richard's wall of indifference will be tested.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is something I started working on right at the end of S2, when I was trying to speculate about what Richard would do after Jimmy's death.**

**This takes place in NYC, 1925. There is little to no accuracy, either to** **history, show canon, or the geographical layout of New York. Artistic license, and all that.**

**More Than Words- Chapter 1**

The Diamond Club sounded like a fancy establishment where the society of New York would mingle with Hollywood stars; the kind of place where nothing less than black tie was acceptable attire. But what it was, in reality, was a run down card house that served cheap whiskey to day laborers who needed a bit of wind down time before heading home. Any glory days the club might have had went out with the turn of the century, leaving the place to muddle through an America in the grip of the Volstead Act; this had been the death toll for many small taverns in the first half of the 20s, but the Diamond Club survived, thanks in part to Meyer Lansky being the unofficial owner. Meyer kept the liquor coming, which kept the customers coming to drink and gamble, which put money in Meyer's pocket, which made Meyer happy.

What didn't make Meyer happy was having to go to the Diamond Club to put the fear of Lansky in to a debtor; especially when going to the club meant postponing dinner with a sweet young lady Meyer was very close to finally fucking.

But with power comes responsibility, and one of his responsibilities was getting his money. If word got out that he let something like this slide, Meyer would lose power, and that was something he would not let happen.

So he sat in the dark, dingy office of the club and glared at the man who had ruined his plans for the evening.

"Well, well, well," Meyer said, leaning back carefully in the wobbly desk chair. "We meet again, Mr. Taylor. I would have thought our last chat would have convinced you to walk the line. Did you just miss me that much?"

The man, Jeff Taylor, gave a small chuckle that hurt his (cracked for sure if not completely broken) ribs and made a small bubble of blood mixed snot form and pop out of his left nostril. "What can I say? You have an irresistible charm."

Jeff Taylor was in a great deal of pain but now was not the time to let that show. Not with Meyer Lansky sitting before him, Benny Siegel at his right shoulder and Lansky's pet assassin behind him and a bit to the left. He thought it best to act like this was just like running in to an old friend, so he flashed a grin that had been quite charming until Benny Siegel had knocked out two of his teeth about twenty minutes prior. Lansky grinned back, but it was the grin of a predator setting his sights on prey.

"Don't think I'm amused," Meyer said. "And don't think you're going to get out of this. I had to cancel an engagement this evening to come deal with you, and I do not like having my plans disrupted." His voice was even and calm, but firm; A. R. had taught him well, he realized as he watched the grin fade from Taylor's face. "You have managed to dig yourself a ***very*** deep hole. And by deep hole I mean you owe me three hundred dollars. How do you plan to pay me back?"

"Well, sir," Taylor had to pause and swallow the lump that fear had put in his throat. "If I could have a couple of days..."

"But you can't. I want my money tonight."

"Umm...tonight might be difficult. Um...I mean it's late and all. But tomorrow-"

"Tomorrow is not tonight. Harrow?" The man stepped forward, coming even with Taylor's left shoulder. Jeff Taylor had never been a very religious man, but he began praying for all he was worth (which anyone who knew him would say wasn't much). Those who had dealings with Lansky said if the man sent Siegel your way, you might live (if the psychopath didn't accidentally beat you to death...that had happened more than once because the nutcase got so involved in the beating), but Benny wasn't the one Lansky sent to kill. No, that was the man with the mask, the man said to become part of the shadows, the man who could put a bullet an inch below your eye and be long gone before you realized you were dead.

The man now standing next to him. The man who, in profile, looked as violent as an accountant. It was when the man looked at you, which he did to Taylor, that you saw how detached from giving a fuck the man was. If the blank stare of the mask wasn't enough, there was the thick scars-one flaring above the left eye, one about a finger thick snaking out of the mask along the cheek. The right side of the face, marred only by a small razor nick on the jaw, was alive and just as blank.

Oh, that green eye was alive, possessed of a gaze that seemed to take every thing in, but nothing came out of it; no compassion, no hatred, no contempt, no indication that the man saw Taylor as a living thing. The fear Taylor had previously thought absolute suddenly intensified as the man stared at him.

"Oh my God!" Meyer shrieked and laughed. "You made him piss himself!"

Harrow looked down and took note of the spreading stain at the front of Taylor's trousers, and took a half step to his left. "It's only fitting since, mm. Benny beat the shit... out of him, earlier."

"Be still my heart! Was that a **_joke_**?" Benny gasped, clutching his hands over his chest. "Don't tell me our little Moon Pie has a sense of humor!"

Richard turned to Benny, his head tilted slightly as he looked the younger man. "I will, mm. Shoot you someday." It wasn't a threat, or an idle boast; it was a promise. It could be tomorrow, or in a week, or another ten years. But Lansky knew it would eventually happen; Harrow and Siegel were like gasoline and a lit match- great on their own but not the best thing together.

"You can't shoot him without my permission," Lansky told Harrow. Harrow gave no reaction other than turning to look at his boss, waiting for instructions.

"I was going to have Harrow kill you," Lansky said to Jeff Taylor, reminding everyone in the room why they were there. "But ***that***," he pointed to Taylor's wet crotch, "makes me want to keep you a little longer. If only for my own personal amusement. That doesn't mean you're off the hook, however." Lansky's boyish face took on a contemplative look. "You will get me money, tonight. I don't care if you have to rob someone to get it. But I will have money. Go with him," he told Harrow. "Use your best judgement." Harrow nodded and grabbed Taylor's jacket, turning him around and marching him out of the office, down a dark narrow hallway and in to the main room of the club. As Taylor and Harrow walked by, the patrons did their best to not look Taylor in the eye; no one wanted to meet the gaze of a dead man walking. And they knew, with Harrow behind him, that's exactly what Taylor was.

Outside, Taylor stopped and thought. He had to get money, from someone, but there weren't too many options. But since his options tonight were 'get money' or 'die', he would have to try every single person he knew. Blood had to count for something, right? Even if every single person in his family had declared him a worthless piece of trash, a leech, an inconsiderate lazy bastard who refused to take any responsibility for his actions...

It would still count, right?

It didn't.

Both of his sisters refused to come to the door, having their husbands tell him to get his worthless ass away from their front door or else.

His parents...well, they had disowned him years ago (for something that wasn't entirely his fault) and as soon as his father saw him, the older Taylor listed every single thing his son had done wrong in his thirty years of existence (most of which Jeff protested was not his fault...but as far as Jeff was concerned it never was)

"Dad, please!" Jeff begged when his father paused for breath mid-litany. "He-" indicating Harrow with a jerk of his head, "-is gonna kill me."

Cyrus Taylor looked long and hard at his only son, and Jeff felt a moment of hope, because he saw a decision made in his father's eyes. Cyrus looked at Richard, and managed to kill any hope that Jeff had harbored by saying "Not sure how you prefer to do it, but this boy ain't worth the price of the bullet." And Cyrus Taylor shut the door on his son, for the last time.

Jeff blinked, his mouth opened and closed as his mind supplied meaningless words he could not voice. His own father...he was stunned. Yes, he had always been a screw up as far as his parents had been concerned; but parents were supposed to overlook things and help their children when help was needed. How could his father stand there, brow beat him for all the stupid things he had done in his youth (things Jeff didn't believe were his fault, none the less!) in front of a total stranger (maybe if Jeff had started of by saying 'Hey, dad, I know you said I was dead to you but old boy back here is gonna make me dead to everyone if you don't help...' maybe that would have worked? But Jeff figured that since he was a bloody, bruised mess and he had a dispassionate masked stranger who, short of a sandwich board advertising his profession, couldn't be any more obviously dangerous,...Jeff had honestly thought that would trigger some parental concern!) But...no...nothing.

There was one more person he could turn to. Sure, she had also told him a time or two dozen that he was worthless, that he had ruined her life, that she wished he was dead, and so on. But she had also helped him out every other time he found himself in this predicament, even if it was begrudgingly and ended with 'this is the absolute last time'.

With his hope renewed, Jeff turned and hurried on his way, slapping Harrow's chest happily and saying "No wasted bullets just yet!" as he went by. Harrow's eye narrowed briefly before he followed after his charge.


	2. Chapter 2

More Than Words-Chapter 2

If Richard Harrow had cared, he would have felt a little sorry for Jeff Taylor when those first two doors were slammed shut. It seemed a bit wrong to be ignored by family in a time of need. And just looking at Jeff, he was *obviously* in need; his eyes were both black, he was missing teeth and his nose looked like it took a left turn at Albuquerque while his face kept straight. And that was just the visible effects of Benny's beating. Harrow was willing to bet a dollar to a donut that Jeff would be pissing blood come morning. He hadn't seen the beating, but he'd seen the kid do it often enough that he knew Benny was thorough and knew just what to hit and how hard to hit it.

Any pity Harrow might have felt (had he cared, which he didn't) quickly evaporated when Cyrus Taylor came to the door and told anyone in earshot how irresponsible, untrustworthy, lazy, despicable, and just plain rotten Jeff was.

There was a very long list: shirking chores, ignoring curfews, disrespect towards his mother, the time he drank the communal wine and then blamed it on Robby Matthews even though Robby hadn't even been at the church and Jeff had wine stains on his lips and shirt! Failing out of school. Putting the Dinardo girl in 'that' situation. The time he was supposed to watch Judy but ran off with his friends, leaving the infant home alone. Messing around with **both** Hayes girls and not 'fessing up to either. All the times Jeff came by at all hours begging for money to pay off his gambling debts. Gwen and Chris (Richard wasn't sure exactly who they were or what Jeff had done to them but Cyrus went on about that subject for a full five minutes.)

Richard might still have pitied Jeff a little (if he cared) because he knew that mistakes happen, and sometimes they just piled up one after the other. But what killed any compassion and made Harrow start to loathe Jeff Taylor was the fact that he would take no blame or responsibility for the things his father said; instead, every time his father added another item to the list, Jeff would say 'it wasn't my fault' or 'well what happened was' or 'it wouldn't have happened if so-n-so had...' Richard found that appalling (or, he would have, of he cared. Which he reminded himself he did not). Even Jimmy had owned up to his mistakes in the end. Richard pushed the threatening emotions back where they belonged just as Cyrus told Richard that Jeff was a waste of a bullet. Richard was inclined to agree; but since it was the fastest, easiest, and oddly enough, most humane way, Jeff was going to get a bullet through whatever passed for his brain. Richard wasn't exactly looking forward to it, but he wasn't exactly dreading it either. Jeff Taylor was rapidly becoming a man who Richard saw as a detriment to society, the kind of man Richard almost took pleasure from removing from the lives of those they were a burden to.

But Jeff suddenly thought of one more door he could knock on, and he hauled tail, smacking Richard's chest like they were friends and making some joke about no wasted bullets as he hurried along. Richard followed, his long legs quickly closing the distance Taylor had made. He fell in step with the man, then decided to move upwind of him; he smelled of piss, nervous sweat, and stale beer, and Richard was not going to traipse all over the city with that in his nose.

He followed Taylor up one street, through an alley, down another street, through an unoccupied warehouse and through another alley...Richard wondered if Taylor was hoping to lose him in the maze that was New York City, thought about mentioning his tracking skills, but held his tongue. It was to his advantage if it wasn't known what all he was capable of. Not that he could come close to half the rumors that were going around about his capabilities, but if the people Meyer dealt with would behave themselves for fear of Richard climbing down their chimney and slaughtering them in their sleep, that was fine by Richard.

Jeff went an apartment building that looked like it was ready to collapse in on itself. Richard found himself navigating narrow hallways and unstable stairs with as much caution as he ever used stalking through forests during the war. There,one misplaced step could snap a branch and alert a well-armed army to your presence. Here, one misplaced step would put you through the floor. He doubted Jeff was going to have any more luck here than he'd had elsewhere. Maybe the door wouldn't be slammed so forcefully this time, but as far as getting money? Richard couldn't imagine anyone living in this sort of building would have much to spare.

Jeff stopped climbing when they reached the fifth floor, going to a door right by the stairs. Richard stopped a few feet away, trying to not be intrusive. He waited for Jeff to knock, wishing the stench of boiled cabbage wasn't so overwhelming.

"Gwen?" Jeff called through the door, not knocking. "It's me. I need to talk to you, but I don't want Chris to see me."

There was a long moment where nothing seemed to happen; Jeff took that time to alter his appearance a bit; not to make his injuries look less severe than they were, but to make them look worse. He drooped one shoulder slightly, took weight from his left leg-as if he had a swollen knee. By the time the door opened, he looked exceptionally pathetic.

If Richard had cared, he might have voiced a snort of disgust at the act.

At first, Richard thought the person who stepped out was a young girl, so short and slender was she. She looked Jeff over, taking note of his condition.

"So this is why you didn't show," she noted.

"I sort of ran in to trouble..."

"And you need me to get you out of it."

"Please, Gwen. You're my last hope. If you don't help me...he'll kill me."

Jeff looked over his shoulder at Richard, drawing Gwen's attention to him. Seeing her face, Richard realized it was a grown woman, just a very small woman. She had never been beautiful, but maybe...before life took such a toll on her, she had been pretty..it was hard to tell for certain, though. She was painfully thin, like she hadn't seen a decent meal in five years thin. Her dark eyes dominated her face; dark circles below them emphasized the pallor of her skin. She looked at Richard, eyes widening as she realized who, what he was and what his presence in the hallway meant.

"You idiot!" she hissed as she spun back to face Jeff. "Did you draw him a nicely detailed map to my door, too? What were you thinking? No...nevermind. I know...if you were thinking of anything, it was how to save yourself. It never crossed your mind that you were putting your son's life in danger, did it? Did it!?"

"I didn't have much of a choice, Gwen," Jeff said. "Lansky told him to go with me and use his best judgement. He's been following me like a damn puppy as I've been trying to get help. Do you have any idea how embarrassed I was, with him seeing my family deny me help?" A note of anger crept in to Jeff's voice; how could his family be so selfish, to not help him when he was so desperate? "Help me, Gwen. I need whatever money you have."

"And what if I don't have any?"

"You have a job. How can you not have money?"

Very slowly, as if she was explaining a complex problem to a simpleton, she said "I have two jobs, and I barely make enough to pay my bills and make sure Chris has enough to eat. Do you have any idea how much food a boy his age can eat? No, of course you don't, because you don't spend time with him. You completely forgot about tonight!"

"Tonight? What was tonight?"

"His birthday."

"No...that's next month. Isn't it?"

"Today. I was there when he was born. Which is more than I can say for you."

"It's been ten years! You're still harping about that!"

"Harping?! Need I remind you..."

Richard sighed and leaned against the wall figuring he would be there a while. He felt a little guilty for eavesdropping, but they both seemed to have forgotten he was there, and to be honest, this was more entertaining than any movie he had ever seen or any book he had ever read. He came to the conclusion that Jeff was an unreliable moocher, Gwen was a shrill harpy, and he himself was better off alone because he couldn't imagine every conversation with a person held at shouting level.

Which brought another thought to him: Jeff hadn't knocked because he didn't want his son to see him, but he didn't think twice about shouting at the boy's mother in the hallway. What kind of sense was that?

Richard thought that might be to close to caring so he brushed the thought aside. He did wish they would stop arguing and come to a decision about the money. He wanted to go home and eat and get as far away from everyone as possible.

"...and I am tired of you thinking of me as your personal bank-"

"Fine then!" Jeff roared, throwing his hands up angrily. "Don't help me! You can have fun explaining to Chris why I'm dead." He turned and started to walk off. Richard watched Gwen, saw the anger and hatred in her eyes, although he didn't think the hatred was all for Jeff. No, Richard knew that glimmer, he saw it in his own eye every time he looked in a mirror; it was self-hatred, loathing who you were and hating that you weren't who you wanted to be. He wondered why she looked that way. No...he didn't, he told himself. Wondering leads to caring and he didn't care.

"Jeff, wait," Gwen said, defeat in her voice. Jeff stopped; Richard noticed that the man hadn't gotten very far, even though he had given the impression of nearly running off. He turned and waited for Gwen to say something else. She gave the tiniest of nods and slipped back inside. There was a sly smile on Jeff's face for a brief moment; just long enough for Richard to catch a glimpse. He had his face suitably composed by the time Gwen came back to the hallway.

"Here," she said, holding her hand out to him. "It's all I've got to spare. I know it's only twenty-seven bucks; I was going to get Chris some new clothes and shoes but..."

Jeff looked hopefully over at Richard. "Well? Lansky told you to use your best judgement. You know I tried; you saw how my family treated me, how they refused to help..."

Richard gave a moment of thought, weighed the options, gave a brief minute to imaging hitting Meyer over the head for leaving this in his hands. But he knew why Lansky had him here, rather than Benny or one of the other guys. Richard would handle the matter rationally, not emotionally. And yes, Jeff had tried to get money (not that Richard blamed them for not helping the jerk). So, eventually he said "It's enough for me, mm. To take you back...to Lansky. It will. Be up to him...at that point."

Jeff swallowed and looked away,first at the wall, then the floor, and finally at Gwen. "Can I see him? Just in case?" She nodded and stepped aside. Jeff shoved the money into his pocket, then opened the door and went inside. That left Gwen and Richard in a very awkward silence there in the hall. He felt like she was judging him; not only because he was a killer at her door-a danger to her and her child, but because of how he looked, probably even for simply existing.

What Gwen was actually doing was trying to overcome the near paralyzing shyness that crippled her whenever she was facing a stranger.

"Ex..excuse me," she finally managed to squeak out, her voice so quiet Richard could barely hear her. "Is Mr. Lansky...w-w-would he...do you think he would let me make...make some sort of arrangement? To p-p-pay Jeff's debt?"

Since the question had been stammered while Gwen stared at Richard's shoes, she didn't see the rapid quirk of his eyebrow her question caused.

"What kind of...arrangement?"

"I-I don't know...I guess that would be up to him."

She sounded like she would resign herself to the worst. "I will...talk to him, mm. And let you..know." She gave a small nod, didn't look up from his feet, and they waited in silence while Jeff Taylor said what might have been his last good bye to his son.


	3. Chapter 3

**(thanks for reading this :-) )**

More Than Words-Chapter 3

Richard stood in Meyer's office, recounting the evening, skipping over the details of the shouting match but including Gwen's offer. Jeff was waiting outside the office, being taunted mercilessly by a slightly drunk Benny. Meyer was still highly irked with Jeff because his date had been entirely ruined thanks to having to deal with the asshole, so a little extra torment seemed in order.

"What kind of arrangement?" Meyer asked when Richard had finished.

"She said that would. Mm, be up to you." Meyer arched an eyebrow in a highly suggestive manner; Richard shook his head. "I've seen fatter...toothpicks. But I think. She would if, mm. That was what you asked."

"She must love the shmuck," Meyer noted. Richard said nothing; he was convinced Gwen hated Jeff, and that this had more to do with the son; but Richard saw no reason to tell Meyer this, not at the moment anyway. It was none of his business, and he did not care.

"Follow her for a few day," Meyer said. "See what she does, who she visits, get some idea what kind of woman she is. I'll figure out if she'd be any use to me. Go ahead and bring Taylor in before Benny has him in tears. I *can not* deal with sniveling right now."

Richard opened the office door and caught Taylor's eye, beckoning him with a jerk of his head. Taylor scrambled away from Benny, past Harrow and into the office; well aware he was going from the frying pan and in to the fire as soon as Lansky fixed him with a glare far more vicious than his choir-boy face should allow.

"Here," Taylor pulled a wad of money from his pocket and all but threw it on to Lansky's desk. "It's all I was able to beg. My family..." he trailed off; Lansky probably didn't care about the details, and if he did, Harrow had probably gone over them. So he stood silently and as still as his fear-taut nerves would allow, waiting for judgement. A quick mental image of Meyer Lansky in a toga, wearing oak laurels on his head, as if he were the emperor of seedy card houses and dark speak easies, almost sent Taylor into a fit of hysterical giggles that he managed to stifle when he pictured Emperor Lansky ordering his death.

"Something amusing?" Meyer asked, noting the way the corners of Taylor's mouth twitched.

"No, sir. Not really. Just...just a random, inappropriate thought."

"Tell me. I could use a laugh."

"Ah...you might not, um...find it flattering." But under that intense gaze, and knowing full well Harrow could easily shoot him from behind, Jeff eventually stammered out his imagining, trying to flatter Lansky as much as he could.

"An emperor?" Lansky laughed. "Much grander than I ever dreamed! So, you're waiting for the emperor to decide your fate?" He held his hand out, closed in a fist but with the thumb pointing to the side. Jeff stared at that thumb, knowing it was the yay or nay that would dictate how he left the office; under his own power, or dragged out by his collar, heels smearing through his own blood. Lansky knew how to prolong the agony, letting his thumb dip a hair, then raising it slightly before centering it again. Taylor felt beads of sweat break out on his forehead, knew his hands were shaking, wished Lansky would just decide before his heart exploded from tension. Finally, Meyer cocked his thumb at the door. "Get the fuck out of my office. You're off the hook for the moment; not out of debt, but off the hook. I want you here, next Friday, at five p.m. We'll discuss how you'll pay me back then. In the meantime, if you step foot in to any of my businesses, it had better be because you have the rest of the money you owe me. Any other reason, and you will be shot. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yessir Mr. Lansky!" Jeff nearly shouted, relief easing the tightness that had been like a constricting band in his chest. "I'll be here, sir," he started backing his way to the door. "Thank you, sir."

"Out," Meyer snapped, tired of groveling idiots. Jeff got one more 'thank you sir,' out before he stepped out of the office and hurried through the main room before Benny could spot him, out into the hallway, and out of the building as quickly as he could. He was still alive! That was fantastic! And, even if he couldn't go to any of Lansky's clubs, there were plenty of other card houses in the city that Lansky didn't run. He patted the left front pocket of his pants, felt the crumpled wad of money there, and gave a smile. Just enough to buy in at a small stakes table, and maybe get himself a whiskey.

"Fifteen dollars," Meyer said once he had straightened and counted the wad of cash Taylor had gathered. "Didn't you say she gave him twenty-seven?" Richard nodded. Lansky sighed. "Go after him. Use your best judgement." Richard was through the door before Meyer finished the sentence.

Richard knew what direction the man would most likely have headed; he hopped in his car and started driving, spotting Taylor ambling up the street like he didn't have a care in the world. Richard pulled up to the curb a bit ahead of Taylor, watching the man approach in the mirror. When he was beside the car, Richard threw the door open and hurled himself at Taylor, slamming the shorter man against the wall.

"Where's the rest?" Richard demanded, nose to nose with Taylor, his hands gripping the man's shirt and jacket tightly. He could feel Taylor's body shaking with fear. "Where is...the money?" he repeated, pulling Taylor forward and slamming him back into the wall.

"I gave it to Lansky!" was Jeff's response. And since that was the wrong answer, Richard slammed him into the wall again. "Alright! Alright!" Jeff hurriedly spat out as stars danced behind his eyelids; Harrow had made his head knock into the wall. "It's in my front pocket!" He noticed (completely pointlessly) that his voice became very high pitched and whiney when he was frightened, and he was tired of these men, Harrow and Lansky and Siegel, going out of their way to frighten him. Didn't they have hobbies for Christ's sake? Nothing better to do at night than harass some poor guy? He held still as Harrow roughly dug through his pockets and pulled out the money he had stashed when he'd gone in to say good-bye to Chris. He didn't get what the big deal was...he'd given the majority of the cash to Lansky; so what if he kept a little for himself? He was just going to use it to get in at a table, nothing crazy...just a low stake card game, he had been feeling lucky and knew he could make some money; he'd give some to Lansky, a little to Gwen...

But no! Harrow had to act like some tax collector from Hell, chasing after him and roughing him up and taking the money. If Jeff had a gun so help him...

Harrow was glaring at him. Earlier, Jeff had been made uneasy by the fact that Harrow seemed to look through him, not at him. But now, there was so much contempt in Harrow's eye that Jeff felt his insides wibble and once again, he pissed his pants under the intensity of that one eyed stare.

Richard heard water hitting concrete, looked down and saw a puddle forming at Jeff's feet spreading towards him, and Richard knew what had happened and had to stifle a groan. He released Taylor with a small shove and stepped out of the way of the puddle.

"I was gonna take that back to Gwen!" Jeff said, able to find his voice now that Harrow's hands weren't in easy strangling reach. "That money is for my son!"

"Go answer a...ringing phone," Harrow replied as he walked to his car. "I think I, mm. Hear bullshit calling."

Richard shut the car door and pulled away from the curb, leaving Jeff Taylor standing in a puddle of piss wondering 'was that a joke?'

'Use your best judgement', Lansky had said. Richard knew full well that he had meant that about whether Jeff Taylor lived out the night or not, but since he hadn't specified, Richard felt there was room for interpretation. He knew he should take the money to Lansky, but his best judgement was to take it to who really needed it, so he drove past the building Meyer's office was in, back to the neighborhood Gwen lived. He parked a block from her building and walked the rest of the way. The streets were nearly deserted; there was a hobo shuffling along half a block in front of Richard, and across the street was a prostitute; she called out to Richard, he ducked his head and hurried on. He retraced his earlier route, exercising even more caution this time because he could hear each stair groan under his weight, now that the tenants had settled for the night and the building was quiet. He went to Gwen's door and saw light seeping under it. He raised his hand to knock, hesitated...what would she think opening the door to find him standing there? That he had killed Jeff? That he had come to kill her or her son? All he could picture was her screaming, and he just could not deal with that, so he slid the money under the door. As he straightened, it occurred to him that she might think Jeff had dropped it when he had said good-bye to the boy. Richard didn't know why, but he wanted her to know the truth; it just seemed important to him. An idea struck; he patted his pockets and finally found the broken pencil he had tucked away earlier because there had been nothing else to do with it and he couldn't just leave trash lying around for someone else to clean up; he hadn't been born in barn, after all. The pencil had no point, but that was solved easily enough with the knife he wore on his belt; a dozen or so passes of the sharp blade with carefully applied pressure and Richard had himself a useful writing implement. There was a small pile of pencil shavings on the floor; Richard scooped them up as best he could and, for lack of anything else to do with them, he stowed them in his pocket and hoped he remembered to empty them out when he got home. If not, well...it wouldn't be the first time he found something odd in his pockets. Richard found a scrap of paper in his wallet; his shopping list from a few days previous (he kicked himself mentally because he still hadn't gotten more glue). The back was still blank, so he carefully wrote a quick note explaining why the money was there and he slipped that under the door, too.

He left the building, stepping out in to the chilly March air; there was the faintest hint of blooming green in the air- that clean, subtle scent that said spring was coming. It would have made sense for Richard to go home, get a little sleep perhaps. But he wasn't tired and he didn't want to go back to his apartment to stare at the walls or page through books he couldn't bring himself to read. So, seeing the abandoned apartment building next to Gwen's building, and mindful of Meyer's orders to watch Gwen and get some idea of what kind of woman she was, Richard let himself into the building (any lock on the door had long since been destroyed so he wasn't exactly breaking in) and carefully went upstairs. There were sections of stairs missing here and there, one touch of the banister had the whole thing vibrating beneath his hand so he made sure to hug the wall, hoping the stairs were sound enough to hold his weight. As he climbed, he realized the building wasn't completely abandoned; apparently a few people who had no where else to go had set up house here. He had to step over a wino passed out in the hallway of the fifth floor, and the distinct sounds of sex drifted down the otherwise quiet hall. Because the lay out of this building mirrored its neighbor, it didn't take him long to find the apartment that he needed. The door hinges screeched as he pushed the door open; thankfully no one in the building felt the need to investigate. Richard cautiously crossed the floor, strangely reminded of crossing the frozen pond when he had been young: place each foot carefully and slowly, listen for groaning or cracking, and be prepared to dash back to solid ground at the first sign of trouble. He made it to the far wall without mishap and eased over to the window. He had a clear view in to the apartment, and he was looking in to the living room/ kitchen. He could see the ice box and counters, stove cupboards and sink. There was a battered table with two mismatched chairs. The only other thing he could see was a large washtub on the floor near the table. The light came from a single bulb hanging over the table. Gwen entered his line of sight, emerging from what Richard assumed was a bedroom or bathroom. He watched as she pulled a large pot and a kettle from a cabinet, filled them with water, and set them on the stove to boil. She then reached under the sink and pulled out a washboard and soap, setting them beside the tub.

Richard watched her fill the tub, scrub laundry, rinse it, then take it out of his line of sight to do whatever it was she did with it. He had the impression her mind wasn't entirely on the chore; even at the distance between them her sharp face seemed distracted, and her motions, though thorough, seemed mechanic. It was when she was scooping dirty water from the tub to dump down the sink that she finally spotted the money and note by her door. She put the pot on the table, picked up the note and the money and looked at them curiously. She counted the money, then looked at the slip of paper. She looked at one side, flipped it over to examine the other. There was no comprehension on her face, and Richard kicked himself for not thinking that she might not be able to read.

Gwen set the note and money aside and went back to her clean up, eventually getting the tub empty enough that she could hoist it to the sink and dump it. She dried the tub and washboard with a towel and put everything away. Then she pulled a chair from the table and dragged it to the counter, standing on it and reaching the top shelf of one of the cupboards, she pulled down an old canister and tucked the money inside of it. She put the canister away, put the chair back at the table and sat down heavily in it.

Richard spent the next three days watching Gwen and her son, and by the time he took his findings to Lansky, he had a very good idea what kind of woman she was.

He also had a hell of a lot of cracks in the wall of indifference he had wrapped around himself, and that didn't please him in the least.

"Richard? When was the last time you had a decent night's sleep?" Meyer asked with concern when Harrow came with his report.

"1917," was Richard's answer. Meyer quirked an eyebrow; Richard just shrugged.

"Tell me what you've got, then go home and sleep. The bag under your eye is resting on your holster."

Richard went over what he had learned of Gwen; she worked mornings at a grocer, afternoons and early evenings at a clothing manufacturer not far from her home. She left her son in the care of a woman near the grocer (Richard had spent a full day watching them, because the boy pulled at Richard in so many ways, none of which Richard wanted).

As a mother, Gwen put her son's needs before her own, which explained why she looked more than half-starved; she was. At every meal Richard saw them at, Gwen would feed Chris, give him seconds if he asked, and if there was anything left when the boy had had his fill, only then would she eat. Richard had only seen her eat once. Twice, she had to show her son an empty pot and shake her head sadly. Richard had spent a lot of time in the apartment across from Gwen's, watching her try to make the best of so little. Her son was small for his age (Richard would have guessed the boy to be seven at most) and while it was obvious that he was underfed, there was a roundness to his cheeks that his mother didn't possess and that she would not let disappear if she could help it.

"She also...takes in laundry," Richard added, "to make...a little extra." He hesitated, not sure if Meyer needed to know one other tidbit he had discovered.

"And?" Meyer prompted, knowing Richard was holding something back.

"The boy is deaf," Richard finally said. Let Meyer decide if it was important or useful.

"Really? Hmm..." Maybe not useful, but Meyer believed any information was worth having. "Alright...I'll meet with her and go from there. See if she'll meet with me tomorrow, eightish?"

Richard nodded and left, going home for a few hours of sleep that came with dreams haunted by brown eyes in a starved face, a little boy he could never talk to, and a life reality would never grant him.


	4. Chapter 4

More Than Words-Chapter 4

When Jeff showed up at her door, begging for money, she swore that she would not help him, not this time. Especially since he brought a murderer right to her door! Especially since, instead of showing up to celebrate their son's birthday, he decided to gamble away money he didn't have. Was she surprised? No. She would have been more shocked if he had shown up. Was she pissed? Of course. She couldn't stand Jeff Taylor as a person (and she hated herself for falling for his charms years ago) and the **only** reason she helped him was their son. Chris loved his father, and life was hard enough for the boy that she felt compelled to help the worthless jerk even though she couldn't afford it and her common sense screamed at her for ignoring it.

And Jeff knew this, and used it at every opportunity, which did nothing to improve how she felt about him. And really, she could blame no one but herself because she didn't have the courage to tell Chris the truth about his father.

Her life was a mess, and she didn't know how to fix it, and now one of Meyer Lansky's toughs knew where she lived, which meant Lansky knew where she lived, which meant her son's life was in danger. Hers, too, but she was concerned for Chris, not herself. So she asked Lansky's man if Lansky would be willing to work something out payment wise. Not because she wanted to help Jeff...but because she wanted to keep armed men away from her door.

After she sent Jeff and the other guy off with the small bit of cash she could spare, she sat and tried to figure out how much she could spare if Lansky took her up on the offer. She came up with about one dollar and fourteen cents a week. Which would probably take her six or seven years if her math was right, which it might not be, since she had no education and only knew very basic arithmetic. There wasn't much she could do until she heard one way or the other from Lansky, so she tried to go about her life and not worry about it.

When she found twelve dollars and a scrap of paper under her door that night, she wondered where it had come from, wished she could read because she was sure the paper explained everything...well, one side of it; the other was written like a list and she thought one of the words looked like 'milk' but she wasn't sure.

For the next three days, she would get the feeling every now and then that someone was watching her. She assumed it was Lansky, trying to figure out if she could pay him. He would discover that she couldn't, tell Jeff to either pay up or have a dead son; of course Jeff wouldn't be able to so Chris would be dead and she...

She tried not to dwell on it but the more she tried to think of something else the faster her mind would go to images of the man with the mask brutally killing her son. She wasn't able to sleep without that nightmare running through her mind, so she gave up trying, which didn't help matters at all.

Needless to say, her nerves where high strung by the fourth day after Jeff showed up. So as she and Chris walked home that evening, and she spotted the masked man waiting in front of the building, she almost lost it. She wanted to turn and run, but the man had already spotted them and was making his way towards them, his long legs covering the pavement in a way Gwen envied. She couldn't outrun him, so she shoved Chris behind her protectively and hoped there was enough of her to stop bullets from getting to Chris. Probably not, she knew, but the man would get to her son only over her cold, dead body.

Richard knew Gwen and Chris would be home a bit after six, so he got to the building a bit early and waited outside. He felt it more appropriate than going to her door, perhaps even a bit more polite or reassuring to her. He didn't know, really; but the thought of knocking on her door made him uncomfortable.

He saw them approaching and walked towards them, chagrined when her eyes widened in fright and she shoved the boy behind her. He wanted to tell her that she was certainly not an impediment if he had really wanted to hurt the boy, but that really wasn't going to help matters.

He stopped a few feet from her, hands clasped in front of himself, trying not to loom over her and failing miserably because she didn't even reach his shoulders. At least she was actually looking up at him this time, even if it was defiantly glaring at his mask eye.

"Don't come any closer!" she told him.

"I wouldn't have stopped if, mm. I planned on...getting closer."

"Stay away! What do you want from me?"

"Meyer said he...would like to. Meet with you, mm. Tomorrow." He paused to work moisture in to his mouth. Chris was trying to peer around his mother, and she was trying to keep him out of Richard's line of sight. The boy managed a moment where he could see Richard clearly; he was fascinated and gave a bright smile and waved. Richard gave a tentative smile that faded quickly when Gwen once more shoved the boy behind her and glared at Richard with all the viciousness of a mother bear.

"What time? Where?" she asked, wanting to get this over with so she could get Chris to safety.

"Eight. I will pick...you up, mm. At seven thirty."

She gave a small nod, her eyes quickly darting to the left where Chris was once more peeking at Richard around her arm. "I'll meet you at the corner of Thirty-seventh and Whitaker." That was near to where she dropped Chris off while she was at work; Richard understood she wouldn't want to bring the boy, and since she didn't know that he knew where she left the boy, he did nothing but give a small nod and wish them both a good evening before he walked to the car and drove away.

Gwen didn't entirely relax once he was gone; she didn't know if she would ever really be at ease now that mobsters knew where she lived. But at least her heart retreated from her throat and her nerves weren't quite as taut. She shooed Chris upstairs, and thought about blocking the door with a chair; but that wouldn't stop anyone who really wanted to get in and it would lead to Chris asking questions she didn't want to answer. Bad enough that he was rapid-firing questions about the man in the mask!

"Who is he, Mom?" Chris signed when they were inside.

"Someone your father knows," she replied.

"I couldn't read his lips. His mask made it hard. Why does he wear it?"

"Well, I think he might have been a soldier, and fought in the war, and got hurt pretty bad."

Chris gave a small nod of understanding. "Did he come to talk about Dad?"

Gwen hesitated, then signed "Sort of, but not really."

"That's not an answer."

A small smile tugged at Gwen's lips; Chris didn't like evasive answers, always wanted to know the why and how come of everything. Gwen wasn't entirely sure what to tell him right now; the boy knew she didn't particularly care for his father, but she had never told him what kind of man Jeff was, or the trouble he got himself in to. She had sworn she would never speak bad about Jeff to Chris, so she was kind of stuck at this point.

"Something came up a few nights ago," she finally signed. "Your father needs a little help, so I'm going to see if there's something I can do."

"Does it have to do with the boxer?"

"What boxer?"

"The one Dad helped the other night. That's why he couldn't make my birthday dinner. He was helping a guy learn to box...I think he's pretty good since he really did a good job beating Dad!"

Gwen wanted to roll her eyes but refrained.

"Why do you want to help Dad?" Chris asked, clearly puzzled. "You don't like him."

"Because he's your dad, and that counts for something."

"But he never helps you with anything."

*Noticed that, did you?* Gwen thought. But what she said was "We're two different people. We do things our own ways." Chris' face took on a thoughtful look, and he didn't 'say' anything for a while. Gwen went about making dinner, and was in the middle of cutting the few small potatoes she had when Chris tugged on her sleeve to get her attention.

"Don't good people help other people?" he asked with a mix of youthful innocence and cynical awareness burgeoning in his eyes. Gwen put down the knife and signed "Life isn't quite that simple, dear. I wish it was."

"Mrs. M. helps us, and you always say she's good people," he replied. "And churches help people all the time, and churches are good, right?" Gwen didn't have time to respond to that, since Chris' fingers were flying through his thoughts almost too fast for her to read. "And you said I was good because I helped Frankie when those boys cornered him. And you're good because you help dad all the time. But he never helps us; does that mean he's not a good person?"

Gwen set the knife down and led Chris over to the table.

"That's a difficult question for me to answer honestly," she admitted. "I don't want to say bad things about him to you..."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want how I feel about him to influence how you feel about him. What's between me and him shouldn't affect what's between you and him."

"He makes you mad a lot."

"He does," she admitted. Chris couldn't hear or speak, but he saw what went on, and he wasn't a stupid boy, even if he was uneducated.

Chris brought his hands up, then lowered them again, having second thoughts about what he had been about to say. Gwen waited patiently, knowing the conversation wasn't finished; she didn't necessarily wanted to finish it, though. Truths might come out that she would rather hold on to longer, but her son was more mature in many ways than a ten year old should be; but in many ways he was so young. Gwen wanted him to have the best life he could have, but she felt like she was failing him in that. There wasn't enough food, the apartment was barely a step up from sleeping in an alley, his clothes were more patch than actual fabric. She couldn't afford to send him to a school that could handle his special needs, and the neighborhood school wasn't capable of teaching him. Chris was pretty good at reading lips, and he was capable of making himself understood in simple circumstances through slow, exaggerated pantomiming, but the only people he could 'talk' to were her, Jeff, and Mrs. Mazetti, the woman who watched Chris while Gwen was at work. There was so much she wanted for her son, but each and every one seemed as impossible as making him be able to hear.

Whatever else Chris had on his mind, he kept to himself. He pulled his legs up onto the chair, rested his chin on his knees, and drifted in to deep thought. Gwen ruffled his hair affectionately before she stood up and resumed dinner. Chris remained thoughtful throughout the evening; as she tucked him in for the night, Gwen finally dared to ask what was on his mind.

"A bunch of things," he replied. "I started thinking one thing, then I had another thought, and that made me think of something else." He shrugged. "But none of it really made sense."

"Anything you want to talk about?" Chris shook his head and snuggled under the thin blanket. "Well, you know where I am if you change your mind," she told him before she leaned down to kiss him good night. "I love you." She adjusted the cover around his shoulders, blew out the candle stub that lit the room, and went back to the kitchen, spending another night washing other people's laundry and experiencing the feeling once more of being watched.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Again, much thanks to you for reading this. I hope you're enjoying it. **

More Than Words-Chapter 5

Richard was waiting patiently beside his car for Gwen. He had gotten to the designated corner early, so he spotted her coming up the sidewalk. She walked with her eyes down, her arms held close to her sides, almost as if she wanted to be smaller than she was. Or maybe she was trying to be invisible; if it was the latter, she was succeeding; no one spared her a second glance. She stopped short of Richard (he could only figure that she recognized his shoes because she certainly didn't look any higher). "I'm late. I'm sorry," she said.

"No," Richard said, pulling out his pocket watch. "It's not yet, mm. Seven twenty-five. I'm just very early." Gwen gave a small nod but said nothing, and since it seemed she didn't plan on saying anything, Richard opened the car door for her.

"Oh...um...th-thank you," she said quickly, glancing up briefly before she climbed in to the car. Richard shut the door behind her and went around to the driver side, sparing her a quick glance as he climbed behind the wheel; she was intently studying the floorboard on the passenger side and she flinched slightly when he shut the door. Richard could have been alone in the car for all the company Gwen was on the twenty minute drive. She sat practically immobile and completely silent (not that Richard wanted to have a meaningless conversation about something trivial like the weather and they didn't know each other so 'how was your day?' was out. Besides, she would say it had been fine even though it had been long and miserable, back-breaking and thankless.)

The silence might have been almost comfortable if Gwen hadn't been so tense that Richard could see her trembling. He would have reassured her if he thought it would do any good; but if he looked at it from her point of view, a raspy voiced hitman saying everything would be fine wouldn't seem very comforting.

It occurred to Richard that she had put herself into this situation, whatever her reasons, and so it wasn't his place to calm her down. It didn't necessarily seem right but he was pretty sure she would reject any attempts at even simple conversation anyway so why even try something that would make them both feel awfully uncomfortable?  
Richard got another stammered thank you when he held the car door open for her, again when he held the building's front door, and a third when he opened the door to the office; at least she was polite.

"Please wait here," he said as they stepped inside the main room, for once completely empty of the lackies Meyer usually kept near by to run errands. He knocked quickly on the office door before stepping inside.

"Where is everyone?" he asked when the younger man looked up.

"I sent them out," Meyer replied, tightening his tie and rolling down his shirt sleeves. "I had gotten the impression from you that she didn't exactly care for our sort." Richard gave a confirming grunt. "I want her as relaxed as possible," Meyer went on. "She's willing to do something about paying a debt that isn't hers; I could at least...Richard? Who is the little ragamuffin in my outer office?" he asked, spotting Gwen finally.

"That's Gwen. Did I, mm...mention she's shorter...than you."

"I like her already! Bring her in. No reason to make her cool her heels out there." Meyer slipped in to his jacket and neatened up some of the papers he had been working on while Richard opened the door and motioned Gwen in.

She came in, eyes firmly fixed to the floor, hands clasped together in a hope of hiding how badly they trembled.

"Mrs. Taylor," Meyer said in warm welcome; Gwen quickly shook her head.

"No, sir," she said quietly. "I'm not married to him."

"Oh. My apologies." Meyer glanced quickly at Richard, saying 'thanks for mentioning that!' with his eyes. There wasn't anything Richard could say; Meyer had told him to watch her, not find out every tiny detail of her life. Meyer turned his attention back to Gwen, who had found an interesting ding on the desk top to stare at and hadn't taken her eyes off of it. "Let's start over," Meyer said cheerfully. "I'm Meyer Lansky. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss-?"

"Gwen, sir."

"Your name is Gwen Gwen? Not very nice of your parents!" Meyer saw her cheek twitch slightly, but that was it. He doubted he would be able to get the woman to relax, so maybe he should just get on with business before she shook herself to pieces in front of his desk?

"All right...Gwen it is, then. Just don't tell my mother I'm being so informal without even bringing you flowers first!" He gave a small chuckle and got nothing in return. "So. You're willing to pay off Jeff Taylor's debt to me. Why?"

She shifted her weight slightly, and Meyer could tell from the motion of her lowered eyelids that she was looking at Richard from the corner of her eyes. "Because, sir, you know where I live. That puts my son in danger, and...Jeff is not a reliable or responsible man. If you get tired of waiting for him to get you your money...maybe you decide to ...um...encourage him...by going after Chris. I can't...I can't leave my son's safety in Jeff's hands. So...if you're willing to make arrangements...I don't have a lot to spare and it will take me a long time to pay you back, but..." She trailed off, rubbed the back of one hand nervously with the other, and waited for Lansky's decision. He was silent, and she could feel his gaze on her as he thought. Finally, after what seemed like an hour to Gwen but had only been less than a minute, Meyer walked around his desk and came to stand in front of it, leaning against the spot Gwen had been staring at. Unfortunately for Gwen, if she kept her eyes where they had been, she would be staring at his crotch, so she brought her eyes up and stared at his tie pin.

"I know quite a bit about you," Meyer said. "Including the fact that you're barely making ends meet now. What are you gonna do? Give me two bits every week for the next fifty years? Looking at you, I doubt you'll live another ten years." Meyer was simply being honest; she shuffled her feet nervously, dreading what he would likely say next, figuring he would say she wouldn't last long enough to pay him so he wasn't even going to bother.

"So," Meyer went on "you're gonna try and set money aside for me, even though there isn't any extra to spare. How?" Unlike when he'd been speaking to Jeff and his voice had been calm, firm, and just a bit sassy, Meyer spoke to Gwen gently, with a hint of curiosity; like he believed she could do it he just wanted to know her secret.

"Everything extra at the end of the week is yours. Some weeks that might be as much as two dollars, some weeks maybe only a few cents, if rent is due. But I'll give it all to you, however long it takes. If you'll agree." God, that sounded pathetic coming out of her mouth. At least she wasn't stammering like an idiot like she usually did around strangers. True, her stomach felt like it wanted to crawl out and hide somewhere in fear, and she was acutely embarrassed by her faded dress and threadbare coat as she stared at that silver tie pin shining pretty in the silk tie. But she had come here willingly and had no choice but to see it through.

"Can you read, Mr. Lansky?"

"I can."

"Maybe...the other night, when Jeff and..." another sideways glance at Richard "this gentleman...came by. Well, after they left...I...there was this..." She dug in her coat pocket and pulled something out, handing it to Meyer. "I gave Jeff twenty seven dollars. And I made sure that...the gentleman knew it was twenty seven, because I didn't trust Jeff to give it all to you...and later that night, that was under my door. Twelve dollars and that note...but I don't know what the note says."

Meyer unfolded the sheet and started reading "Glue...flour...milk...sugar...apples...butter" He glanced up at Richard with a cock-eyed grin. "You bake a pie or something? "

"Read the...other side," Richard growled, rolling his eye.

Meyer flipped the sheet over and read "You probably knew this would happen. Jeff only gave Meyer $15; he was going to gamble the rest away. I should give this to Lansky. You need it more." Meyer tried to hand the money back to Gwen, but she refused to take it. "That was intended for you."

"It was, but I told Richard to use his best judgement, and his best judgement was that you needed it." Meyer made a face and said "I have to agree with him. Take the money."

"I can't. It has to go to you...it's part of Jeff's debt and-"

"Gwen," Meyer cut her off, using his most authoritative voice. "Look at me."

It took her a moment to work up the courage to raise her eyes, but eventually she did; and when she finally got her first look at him, she couldn't keep surprise from her face.

"Oh! You do have eyes," Meyer gently teased. Gwen was still too shocked at what she saw to grow shy. She had expected one of Satan's minions, given some of the things she had heard about Lansky and his colleagues. But he was so young and boyish looking that this couldn't be the same man she'd heard stories about. He gave a charming grin, but the look in his eyes was hard and slightly sad. "I won't lie and say I'm a good man, I can't honestly say I'm a truthful one. But I do have a bit of decency in me, and I can not take this from you." He took one of Gwen's hands and put the money in her palm, folding her fingers over it; she was still shocked that he was so young that she didn't even protest. "And I can't take whatever you have left from your paydays, either."

"B-b-but..." Gwen started to stammer. Meyer raised one hand and shushed her.

"I'm not disagreeing to working something out with you. I was thinking more of offering you a job."

"What kind of job?" she asked warily.

"Why don't you start by cleaning out there?"He jerked his chin towards the outer office.

"Alright," she agreed with relief that the task was relatively simple. Well, given the state of that room, perhaps not simple so much as mundane. "Where do you keep the cleaning goods?"

"Under the sink out there. But I didn't mean tonight!" he added hastily when Gwen turned towards the door.

"Oh. I'm sorry." And just like that, her shyness over came her and her eyes resumed their intense scrutiny of his tie pin.

"Don't be sorry. I like a get it done attitude. Wish more of the people I deal with had it. But anyway...come in on Sunday, Richard will pick you up. By the time you have this place cleaned up, I'll have something else lined up. Alright?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Good. It was very nice to meet you. Richard will see that you get home safely."

.


	6. Chapter 6

More Than Words-Chapter 6

"Please just drop me off where you picked me up earlier." It was the first thing Gwen had said since her spate of 'thank you for holding doors open' when they'd left Meyer's office.

Richard almost argued that since Meyer told him to see her home safely, that was exactly what he planned to do. But he understood how uncomfortable he made Gwen, and he didn't want to distress her further. So when they reached the intersection, Richard pulled up to the curb.

"When would you...like to go in Sunday?" he asked when the car stopped.

"Whenever is convenient for you," she responded without looking at him.

"Would you prefer, mm. Earlier or later?"

"Whichever is best for you."

"What's...best for you?" There was a small note of exasperation in his voice.

"It doesn't matter. Whatever is best for you."

"If I said that...I was only free at. Mm three in the morning..." Exasperation was rapidly growing into annoyance at her lack of definitive answers.

"Then that would be fine."

The only reason Richard didn't bang his face on the steering wheel was fear of breaking his mask.

"I'll pick you up at ten," he stated, realizing one of them had to make a decision and it obvioisly wasn't going to be her.

"That will be fine."

"Here? Or at...your building?"

"Here, please."

*Well, hallelujah! An answer* Richard thought. Then he immediately felt guilty because he wasn't being fair to her. She had just committed herself to work for a man she saw as a threat to pay off a debt that wasn't hers, so of course she was uncomfortable. And Richard had a feeling that she wasn't a social person, anyway; he had only seen her talk to the woman who watched Chris, and that only briefly. Or, maybe she was social and it was just him that put her off. That was entirely possible. It was a reminder of why he had done his best to avoid people; some times they looked at him like he had escaped from a zoo and they couldn't believe no one had rounded him up and put him back in his cage. He frightened people, he understood that. He also understood that people had to have something in common to relate to one another, and there weren't many people he had anything in common with. Gwen certainly wasn't one of them. Why was he yearning for something he couldn't have and wasn't entirely certain he actally wanted?

"Alright. I'll see you. Mm Sunday then." She gave a small nod and mumbled good night before all but dashing out of the car. Richard watched her hurry down the sidewalk until she rounded a corner before he pulled away from the curb.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Gwen said as soon as Mrs. Mazetti opened the door.

"It's fine," she assured Gwen as she stepped aside as quickly as her aching hips would allow. "How did your appointment go?"

"Fine, thank you. How was Chris?"

"Chatty. He talked about baseball; apparently his father mentioned something about going to a game this season." Which Gwen knew meant she would have to come up with money for it. "And he said he wished it was his birthday again because he loved the cheese you got for him. His main topic, however, was some man his father knows..."

"The man with the mask?"

"That's the one. Chris has some highly interesting ideas about how he got injured. I personally liked the one where the man rescued a princess from the Kaiser who was actually a dragon. I found some scrap paper and Chris has been drawing for a while. He did a very good likeness of this masked man. Well, I assume it's a good likeness... It's a very good drawing of a man wearing a mask." Gwen didn't sigh, but she would have to find some way to break Chris of his interest in the masked man. Killers were not role models any mother would want for their children.

"Mrs. Mazetti, is there any chance you could watch Chris on Sunday? I hate to impose but something has come up."

"I would love to, but I've a funeral to attend."

"Oh. I'm sorry. You have my condolences."

"That's very kind of you dear. If Patty was going to be there I'd offer to take Chris; but I spoke with her mother earlier and poor Patty is down with chicken pox! "

"Poor thing," Gwen said with a shake of her head. She could remember her own miserable, itchy bout of chicken pox. "I hope she feels better soon. I know Chris loves when she comes to visit."

"I'm sure she'll be up and running in a few weeks."

Gwen nodded and said she should get Chris and get home; there was laundry to do and it would be time for her to get up for work before long. Chris was in the bedroom; Mrs. Mazetti had hoped the boy would fall asleep but that hadn't happened. He was busy with his drawings still. He looked up and smiled at Gwen when she came through the door.

"Hi Mom!" he signed happily. "Mrs. M gave me some paper to draw on."

"So she said. Can I see?" Chris shuffled through the pile and started showing them off.

"Here's how I think Dad looked when he was helping the boxer," he explained with the first one. Gwen thought the likeness to Jeff was dead on, and Chris had done a fantastic job of catching his father's face catching a fist, down to tiny details like spittle and a tooth flying out of his mouth. She was a little disturbed that Chris knew just how a face scrunched with impact, but Chris had probably seen a fight or two between the few neighborhood boys he could call friends. The next picture was of the man with the mask, as Chris had seen him the day before in front of their building. The attention to detail was remarkable. Gwen almost felt that jolt of fear she had experienced when she had first spotted him, which was silly because it was just a drawing. But still! Chris had captured the faint lines at the man's eye, the crease and not-quite-dimple at the right corner of his mouth, even the veins in the man's hands! "Very lifelike," Gwen told Chris when she handed him the drawing back. "But what are these dots?" She pointed to the vine like scar creeping along the man's cheek.

"I don't know," Chris replied with a shrug. "You would have to ask him why those dots are there."

Gwen would never actually do that, but anyway.

"This one isn't finished yet." Chris handed her the drawing he'd been working on when she came in. It was...interesting...to say the least. Once again, it was the man in the mask, but he was wearing what looked like armour, fighting what looked something like a Chinese dragon with a bushy mustache. The man was holding a sword in one hand and a shield in the other, standing protectively in front of a woman wearing a puffy dress and a crown. Gwen must have been seeing things because she thought the woman looked like her.

"This is creative," she said. Chris smiled proudly.

"I bet he got hurt helping someone. I don't know what a princess really looks like but I bet you'd be a good one."

"Thank you, sweetie. But I'm not princess material." She smiled proudly at him. "Ready to go? Alright. Tell Mrs. M thank you and good night, then get your shoes and coat on." Chris rolled off the bed and went to Mrs. Mazetti, thanking her for watching him and letting him use the paper and pencil, then he scampered off to find his shoes.

"I don't want to seem like I'm prying," Mrs. Mazetti said to Gwen. "But...well...I'm prying. Who is this man?"

"Someone Jeff knows," Gwen replied. "It's complicated."

Mrs. Mazetti didn't say anything else, even though she had a ton of questions that she knew Gwen wouldn't answer and a bunch of advice Gwen didn't want to hear and wouldn't take. She liked Gwen, and would gladly do everything she could to help the younger woman; but she also knew Gwen didn't like people poking their noses in her business.

"Good night, " Mrs. Mazetti signed as she saw them to the door. "See you...well, in a few hours."

Chris tried to walk all the way home, but he was practically asleep on his feet with four blocks to go. So even though it was difficult because he was he was tall and heavy (at least in relation to Gwen), she picked him up and carried him home, one arm under his legs and the other behind his back, his arms around her neck with his head resting in the hollow between neck and shoulder. He was asleep in less than a block.

Jeff was standing by the front door, waiting for her.

"Let me give you a hand," he said when she neared.

"Thanks,"she said, slightly surprised at his offer. "He got heavy a few blocks-oh." Instead of taking their son from her, Jeff reached into her pocket and pulled out her keys. She sighed and hefted Chris a little higher in her arms. Jeff at least had the decency to hold the door open for her, and admittedly, she might not have been able to unlock her door without setting Chris down; it was the first time in the twelve years she had known him that Jeff had proven himself useful, and it galled her to have to thank him.

She carried Chris to the bedroom and put him down for the night, trying to ignore Jeff hovering there in the doorway like he had every right to be there. Maybe if he had offered to help, it wouldn't have been so bad, but he just stood there and watched her struggle to pull Chris' clothes off and dress him in pajamas, no easy task when a child is sound asleep. She finally managed (God knew it wasn't the first time she had done it and it probably wouldn't be the last!) and she slipped out of the room. Jeff followed her in to the kitchen.

"Why are you here?" she asked as she stretched her back. She wanted to get him out so she could get an hour or two of sleep.

"I need to stay here tonight."

"Don't you have an apartment?" Jeff didn't reply, and he wouldn't meet her eyes. "You got kicked out."

He nodded. "I had been staying with a friend but we had an argument and I thought it best to leave until we cooled down." Actually, she had kicked him out and told him to never come back; Jeff figured it was just her time of the month and she would come to her senses in a few days. He didn't get why she was so upset...if the necklace had really meant that much to her she would've worn it on occasion, but she never did; it just sat in a box and collected dust. The guy at the pawn shop said it wasn't even worth that much and only gave Jeff twenty dollars to get him out of his shop.

Gwen really wanted to tell Jeff to get out of her apartment, but this was actually quite fortuitous. "Alright," she said without any argument, which surprised the hell out of Jeff. "I'll let you stay the weekend. But only because I need you to watch Chris on Sunday while I work."

"I thought you had a lady who watched him?"

"I do, and believe me, if she could watch him you would not be here."

"I love how you only want me around when you need something from me."

"Now you know how I feel."

"What in the hell is that supposed to mean?" Jeff demanded.

"What does it sound like it means?" Gwen snapped back. "You show up tonight because you need someplace to stay. You came by four nights ago because you needed money. The time before that you needed money... when was the last time you did anything with Chris? You couldn't even be bothered to show for his birthday!"

"There is not one damn thing stopping you from coming to see me!"

"Except that I work all day six days a week and I'm never sure where you're living since you get evicted every other week!"

"Quit being such a martyr, Gwen. It's not like your job is that hard..."

"Do you even know what I do? No, you don't, so don't think you can stand there and lecture me on hard work. Especially since you've never lasted three days at any job you somehow managed to get!"

"All you do is stack fruit and take money."

"And then I spend eight hours sewing clothes I can't even afford to buy -"

"Oh cry me a fucking river! You just love to whine about how difficult your life is. Where were you tonight? Why'd you come home so late?"

"That is none of your business." Although, really, it was completely his business. Or at least his fault. But she didn't want to say anything for fear of proving him right about whining.

"How is it not my business why you had my son out until eleven o'clock at night?"

"Because you never make any thing else in his life your business!"

"It's not like you ever make me feel welcome when I show up. I feel like I'm intruding. Look how you greeted me tonight! No 'hey Jeff how you doing? Good to see you!' No, you greet me with what do you want-"

"I don't socialize but even I know you don't wait outside someone's home this late just to pop in and say hi."

"If you don't socialize why were you out this late?"

"You think I had a date?" Gwen couldn't help but laugh at such a ridiculous notion. "Even if I had *any* desire to go through that misery again, which I don't! I don't have the time or the energy. And honestly, Jeff," she added, all the anger bleeding out of her voice. "Look at me. I'm a child size skeleton who looks twice her age. What man would want to be with me? Especially when they discover I not only have a child, but a deaf and dumb child to boot?" She shook her head. "I'm not you; I don't have that charm and easy way with words like you."

Jeff chuckled. "God, it was almost two weeks before you spoke a full sentence to me. Another three days before you looked up at me. Gwen. My shy little mouse." He reached up and rubbed her jaw with his thumb. "I remember," he said in his best seducing voice, "the way you looked the first time I kissed you."

He leaned in, but Gwen put a hand on his chest and took a step back.

"No," she said. "Just don't..." She turned and walked away, going to the window and looking over at the abandonded building next door. "You can sleep on the couch. It's not very comfortable, and try to stay still; it'll come off the legs if you're not careful."

"Alright. Good night." Jeff went to the couch and sat down carefully, pulling off his shoes before stretching out. "Cut the light, will you?" Gwen did, then sat down at the table, resting her head on her folded arms. Her body was so tired that even this uncomfortable arrangement seemed heaven sent, and she was falling asleep even as she lowered eye lids over gritty eyes. She was almost completely out when Jeff started snoring; the unfamiliar, unpleasant sound grated against her ears and ruled out any hopes of sleep she might have harbored.


	7. Chapter 7

More Than Words-Chapter 7

Chris couldn't contain his excitement at finding his father on the couch when he woke up; running over and waking Jeff with a hug.

"Why don't I watch him?" Jeff suggested. "C'mon, don't make that face. You were just saying I never spend time with him. We'll go to the park or something." Gwen tried to argue, even though her only reason against it was a nagging voice in the back of her mind saying this couldn't end well; but when Chris added his 'voice' to the argument for spending the day with his father, she couldn't say no.

She handed Jeff five of the twelve dollars, telling him to buy lunch with it, keeping her mouth shut about where that money should have been (she knew that if she said even one word it would escalate into a full blown argument that would result in Jeff leaving, and she just couldn't do that to Chris. Not when he looked so happy and excited). She gave her son a kiss and his father an awkward little smile, told them both to have fun and stay out of trouble, and that she would see them both in the evening.

She still stopped at Mrs. Mazetti's apartment, to let her know Chris would be spending the day with Jeff but things would be back to normal Monday. Gwen didn't like the way she felt under the older woman's well-meaning scrutiny; Mrs. Mazetti kindly but curiously mentioned that Gwen looked like she hadn't slept and when Gwen admitted that she hadn't and why, Mrs. Mazetti didn't say a word. Not that she needed to; Gwen could read her thoughts in her eyes. "Well, at least you've got tomorrow covered. I was going to offer to take Chris even though Patty wouldn't be there to play with. Have a good day, dear. See you Monday."

Gwen trudged to work, wishing the day over so she could go home and sleep. But it was one of those days where anything that could go wrong did go wrong. It should have been an easy day, she only worked at the grocer and that was the easier of her two jobs. But her boss, Mr. Fazio, could tell she wasn't fully with it and started on her as soon as she walked in the door.

He told her to sweep and she ended up tripping herself with the broom, which resulted in her falling into a shelf and knocking everything on to the floor; Mr. Fazio berated her as a clumsy fool the entire time she cleaned the mess up.

A customer accused Gwen of over charging him, Mr. Fazio sided with the customer without even looking at Gwen's figuring, gave the man his entire order free and told Gwen it was coming out of her check.

Another customer came in around noon and recognized Gwen from the old neighborhood; it wasn't anyone Gwen had been close to but still it was an old familiar face, and news of people Gwen had once known was welcome, in spite of the bitter longing and homesickness it raised. It was not social hour, however, as Mr. Fazio pointed out loudly and directly in Gwen's ear (with a snide comment about how her son's condition must be spreading because she was acting awfully dumb).

Never a self-confident person anyway, and feeling unbalanced by everything that had happened over the week, Gwen was nearly on the verge of tears by the time her shift was over. Mr. Fazio handed her her pay for the week, minus the overcharged order, and told her she was one mistake away from losing her job. Gwen noddded and apologized and promised to have it together next week and apologized once more as she hurried out of the store. She walked home with tears burning behind her eyelids; she thought she wanted a drink to calm her nerves but since she had never had a drink before it seemed an odd craving, so she chalked it up to stress and exhaustion and pushed the thought from her mind, convinced that everything would be fine once she got home.

It wasn't.

She found Chris home alone. Jeff had apparently run out for lunch and not bothered to come back. Chris didn't know exactly how long his father had been gone, but Gwen figured it was a good few hours. She put together dinner, imagining strangling Jeff and stabbing him and skinning him alive. How DARE he leave Chris alone in the apartment while he went and probably gambled away the money he was supposed to buy lunch with. What if the building had caught fire? What would Chris have done? Certainly not hear the commotion! And there was no guarantee any neighbors would think to look in the apartment to see if any one was in it. How would Chris call for help? Oh, that's right! He couldn't! Gwen let all the nightmare scenarios she could image run wild and feed her anger at Mr. Jeffery Michael Taylor. Her knife thunked heavily on the cutting board as she pictured the chicken she was cutting to be any one of his body parts.

*thunk* there goes a finger.

*thunk* take out that lying, silver tongue.

*thunk* off with his head. Either one...hell, take both of them. They were both trouble!

"Of course you only have yourself to blame!" she muttered to herself. "What made you think this was a good idea? Leave that man with money and expect him to do right. Stupid! Stupid! stupid!" She berated herself for once again being such an idiot when it came to that man. She put dinner on the stove, hoped it would be filling enough for Chris...God damn Jeff! Didn't he care at all about his son? Skip out with the boy's lunch money... Why didn't she listen to that voice this morning? If she had taken Chris to Mrs. Mazetti, Chris would have had a decent lunch and she would have had five more dollars.

Supper simmering, Gwen went to talk with Chris, who was curled up on his bed looking so sad it broke her heart.

"Want to talk?" she asked.

"Is Dad coming back?" Chris signed.

"Honestly? I don't know. I'm sorry."

"I keep hoping he'll turn in to a real dad. That he'll come home with food and stay. Maybe get a job like every one else's dad. If he did then you wouldn't have to work so much."

"I do what I have to do to make sure you're taken care of. That's what moms do."

"Dads are supposed to do that too, but mine doesn't." Gwen could sense the bitter resentment Chris was feeling, and it made her hate Jeff more for raising such feelings in the boy. "Are you sure he's my dad?"

"Positive."

"Can I trade him for a new one?" Chris asked with a hopeful look in his eyes. "One that does the stuff he says he'll do?"

"I wish we could," she replied with a small grin that did nothing to mask her sadness. "But I don't think it works like that."

Chris sighed; Gwen rubbed his back. "I wish your father was a better man," she signed after a while. "I wish he would at least be there for you. But he's...just not..." she groped for words, not really sure how to explain without more deeply seating the resentment Chris currently felt.

"Is it because I'm deaf?" he interjected while she searched for words.

"No!" she hurried to assure him. "That has nothing to do with it. It's just...your father's main concern is himself. It always has been." She couldn't keep her feelings of guilt out of her eyes. "I never told you a lie about your father, but a lot of times I never told you the truth."

"When? Like what?"

"Well, let's start with the other night. Your birthday? He didn't miss it because he was helping a boxer. He got himself in debt with a powerful man, and..."

She paused when a knock on the door sounded. "I'll be right back," she told Chris. "Someone's at the door."

"Dad?" he asked, a little hope mixed with a bit of dread in his eyes.

"I don't know,"she replied. If it was Jeff, what was she going to do? She wanted to kill him, ban him from their lives. But she doubted she would ever find the nerve to actually do that.

She didn't have to worry about it. It wasn't Jeff. It was Richard, and that sent a completely different set of emotions (fear, panic, a sudden urge to make right with God) coursing through her.

When she opened the door, he was standing there with his cap clutched in his hands, looking rather...well, *innocent*... for all that he was a murderer. Gwen took a small step back, instinctively looking for Chris so she could shield him. Chris was peeking from the bedroom, an excited grin on his face as he saw his new idol at the door. Gwen decided to tell her son the absolute truth about what exactly had happened the night of his birthday, especially the 'and then your father showed up with a murderer in tow' part.

"What is it?" she demanded, doing her best to block Chris from view.

"I'm sorry to bother you," Richard said, twisting his cap as if *he* was nervous. "I know you...don't like. Mm, being reminded that. I know where...you live but..." He took a moment to work moisture back in to his mouth, hoping to say what he needed as quickly as possible and get away. He knew he put Gwen on the verge of panic, especially if her son was near, and that knowledge twisted his stomach in unpleasant knots. "I wanted to. Mm, let you know that I...might be a little late tomorrow." He was shocked at the word Gwen muttered; he didn't think someone so meek would use such language. "I'm sorry," he hurriedly mumbled more at his lapel than her. "I don't mean...to upset your. Mm, plans for the day."

"No, it's no that." She sighed and brushed hair from her forehead. "It's just...I can't. Tomorrow, I mean. I...I don't have any one to watch my son and I can't leave him and I know I told Mr. Lansky I would but now I don't know what to do and-" She realized she was babbling almost hysterically...would this man kill her and Chris now that she was going back on her word to his boss? Was this some test? Had she failed? Her heart started pounding erratically in her chest and her mouth grew dry. She might have taken a step back if she hadn't been paralyzed with fear.

"Bring him."

"Wh-what?"

"Bring him," Richard repeated with a small shrug. "It's not...a problem."

"But...I...I..." Gwen could think of a few reasons why it seemed like a bad idea, but she couldn't voice them for fear of insulting the man before her. She didn't know exactly how high this man was in Lansky's organization, and she wouldn't risk offending someone who was more than likely carrying a gun.

(Of course Richard was armed. He always was. The army had instilled the importance in him and the life he had been living since he met Jimmy had only reinforced that lesson.)

"It's up to you," Richard shrugged. "I'll be at the corner...if you decide. Mm, or make arrangements. Good night." He gave a small nod and turned towards the stairs.

"Wait!" Gwen called. Richard turned to look at her. "You said you would be late?"

"Not very. Maybe...fifteen minutes. I just. Didn't want you...mm. To think I wasn't going. To show."

"Oh...thank you. That's...very considerate of you." She was slightly shocked by it, honestly. Not just the fact that a heartless killer would be considerate, but that it was aimed at her. Consideration wasn't something she often experienced. "I'll see you tomorrow." She hadn't even realized she'd made a decision! But she had and there was no backing out now. Richard simply nodded and left.

Gwen closed the door and leaned against it momentarily as she waited for her nerves to settle. She couldn't help but think she might have just made a monumentally stupid decision. But if she looked back on her life, she couldn't say she had ever made any wise ones; she would just have to make the best of this one, just like she always did.


	8. Chapter 8

More Than Words-Chapter 8

Chris looked at his mother with wide eyes and tried to process what she had just told him. He probably should have been afraid...his mom clearly was; and that would be the logical reaction to being told that the man who had just left was a killer.

But ten year old boys and logic weren't always boon companions, and all Chris could think in reaction to this news was that his friends would be so jealous.

At least Chris understood why Gwen was helping Jeff, even though he was mad enough at his dad and hurt by what he had done that he thought Jeff being dead might be nice.

Gwen had been completely open with Chris, filling him in on all sorts of things she hadn't told him...she admitted that it had been wrong to withhold all this but she had been so afraid of ruining Chris's love for his father that she just couldn't. Chris had to admit, now that he knew what he knew, that his father was an ass (not that he used that word with his mother...she'd have a litter of kittens if she knew he even knew it!) So Chris was left with a lot to think about. Like where he should kick his father first; he was thinking shins, then a good one to the jaw when he was down. He said as much to his mom, and she looked kind of sad.

"I really hoped you'd never feel that way," she told him. "But I can't very well scold you for having the same thoughts I've had over the years."

"But if he's such a lousy person why do you keep helping him? Wouldn't we be better off without him at all?"

"Sometimes I think so. But then I look at you and I realize he gave me the most precious thing in my life." Chris was just old enough to be embarrassed by this sentiment. "I know," Gwen said with a small smile. "You're getting too old to hear things like that. But you'll understand some day."

Chris could wait until someday to understand that. What he couldn't wait for was tomorrow and the chance to see the man with the mask. If he'd been interesting before, finding out he was a hitman to a mobster made him absolutely fascinating to a ten year old boy who secretly craved action, adventure, and danger. Chris didn't entirely believe the man was dangerous; he had looked really nervous at the door earlier and the other day outside the building he had done nothing that seemed threatening. And Chris had developed a good sense for threatening situations; he was a favorite target for the neighborhood bullies so he had learned to run any time his skin prickled a certain way. He didn't get that feeling from the man in the mask, but his mom didn't want to hear that. As far as she was concerned he was dangerous and she would not consider another opinion. She was being stubborn (she called it 'maternally protective' but it was stubbornness, plain and simple) and Chris was irritated that she wouldn't even consider any opinion than the one she had already formed.

Chris spent most of the night staring at the bedroom ceiling, thinking about what his mom had told him and the way this knew knowledge affected him and his feelings towards his father.

A lot of things suddenly made more sense. Jeff sometimes did follow through with his promises to take Chris someplace; and there had been a few times when he was younger that Jeff had taken Chris to strange buildings, left him under the care of a disinterested stranger (if one could be found; Chris had sat on a garbage can in an alley once because no one could be bothered). Jeff always made Chris promise that he wouldn't tell Gwen, it would be their little secret. At the time, Chris didn't understand why some times Jeff would be very happy when he came to collect Chris, but usually he would be sad and quiet, and one time in a very big hurry. Now, Chris knew his father had been gambling away whatever money Gwen had given him, more often than not losing it all. What had been a special secret between father and son was now a glaring example of neglect. Then another memory came to the boy's mind; Jeff was supposed to take him to the park but they ended up in some lady's apartment. The lady had a daughter a few years younger than Chris, and the daughter happened to have the same color eyes as Jeff. Chris thought she must be a cousin or something, but now he wasn't so sure. He remembered his dad and the woman yelling at each other, then the woman stomped out of the room, Jeff followed, and when they came back later they were rumpled and sweaty.

Then...today. Jeff had said he would run out for lunch, Chris should clean up and get dressed; they'd eat then go to the park. Chris was a little nervous being left alone, but he went ahead and got ready. Then he waited. And waited and waited.

Chris rolled on to his side, back to the door and sobbed silently as he felt one of the absolute foundations in his life disintegrate beneath him. He had thought his father loved him, but no. There was no way you could love someone and treat them the way Jeff treated him.

His mom came in while he was crying and placed a calming hand on his shoulder. Normally he would have turned in to her comforting embrace, but tonight he just couldn't.

Eventually he cried himself to sleep, feeling hollow inside.

*_I'm going to be late? What kind of excuse is that? Not that I could admit what really drove me there. Jesus Christ. No more spying. There's no reason for it, and all it's doing is making me want to reach out. I can't do it. Not again. I can't stand to be hurt again. Besides, I know she'd sooner throw herself in front of a car than have anything to do with me. I just need to stay away from them unless absolutely necessary, and when I can't avoid them I will treat them like I treat every one else; polite but distant. It's the only way.*_

Gwen sat at Chris's side long after he had fallen asleep, her hand gently resting on his shoulder, guilt eating her from the inside knowing she had just drastically changed something in his life that could never be put to right. Maybe if she had been open with him all along it would have been easier. But she couldn't alter what had already been done; she could only try to do better in the future and do what she could to make up for it.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: thank you for reading. I really do appreciate it.**

More Than Words-Chapter 9

Gwen was at the corner, holding Chris's hand, when Richard pulled up.

"I'm sorry...I'm late," he grumbled as he held open the door. He avoided looking at her.

"No..you're not. It's fine," she told his shoes. She nudged Chris in to the car and slid in beside him.

Richard kept his eyes on the road; steadfastly ignoring Chris, whose eyes he could feel studying him. Gwen, he assumed, was memorizing the floor board again. He was surprised she had put the boy in the middle. He would have expected her to be between him and Chris, snarling and growling at a threat to her son. Then he went to shift gears and he realized that if Gwen was in the middle, he'd be playing with a stick between her legs. Since no non-professional woman seemed inclined to let him do that...no, he wasn't going to dwell on that. There was a very fine line between indifference and bitterness and that subject was one of the weak points.

So they drove in silence, each trying hard to not think about what put them together in that car and each having very little success. Traffic was relatively light at that hour on a Sunday morning, and they arrived at the office without hassle or delay. Richard politely held open doors, and Gwen politely thanked him, keeping herself between Richard and her son once again. He felt like grinding his teeth in frustration and pointing out that if he really wanted to kill the boy, which he most certainly did not, her little body would not prevent it. But he said nothing and avoided grinding his teeth by sheer force of will. It didn't matter what she thought of him. In fact, it was better if she feared him. She would work that much harder to pay off Lansky if she thought her son's life was in danger. So, keep her afraid until everything was settled then never deal with her again.

Inside the office, Gwen pointed to a chair and asked Chris to sit, then went to the cupboard Mr. Lansky had said she would find cleaning supplies. She found a bucket and a rag that was so stiff and filthy it was useless.

"Meyer said...if you needed any. Mm, more supplies to. Let me know, and I'll go...get them."

"I need everything," she said, rummaging under the sink hoping to find something useful. She found nothing but empty bottles, cigarette butts and something green that maybe used to be bread.

"Alright," Richard nodded at her back. "I'll be back. Mm, in a few minutes." He left. Gwen found a broom leaning in a corner and began sweeping. Disgusting really didn't encompass how filthy the office was; by the time Richard returned with supplies, Gwen had filled the two trashcans that were mostly empty before she started, and she had set them, along with the two that were already overflowing, next to the door.

"Where should I dump those?" she asked softly when he came in.

Richard set the bag on a table and said "I'll get them." He was able to grab three at once. Chris hopped off the chair and grabbed the fourth, looking up at Richard with a smile.

That smile was like a battering ram against the wall Richard wanted to hide behind. It was sweet and innocent and held the pure joy only a child could ever project. It was the smile of a child happy to help an adult with something. He didn't see Richard as a threat. Richard shook his head no and tried to reach for the trashcan. Chris pulled the can out of reach and nodded. Richard shook his head again. Chris nodded and took a step towards the door, waving for Richard to follow.

"You can't...come with me," Richard said, shaking his head to emphasis his point.

"He's deaf," Gwen said as she went through what Richard had bought. "And he has trouble reading your lips because your mask blocks half of your mouth." She set down the new mophead Richard had bought and signed something to Chris. Chris set the wastebasket down and signed back. It looked to Richard like a fairly long reply, although he really had no idea. But what ever he said, it made Gwen pause before she responded. They signed back and forth for a few minutes before Gwen threw her hands up in defeat and turned away.

"Um..." Richard wasn't sure what that was all about and he had a feeling Gwen didn't get the result she had wanted.

"He's insisting on going with you," she informed him stiffly.

"I'm surprised. Mm, you're letting him."

"I forbade him. He informed me I was over reacting."

"He's right," Richard agreed. "I could...have killed you both. Mm, a dozen times if. I had wanted to."

"That does nothing to reassure me," she snapped, looking at him for the first time that day. Her eyes blazed with fear and anger. Richard met her gaze dispassionately. Let her think what she would of him. He didn't care.

"We'll be...right back." Chris held the door open after he picked his trashcan up, happily following the man out to the alley where they dumped the trash into a larger can, then back inside. Chris went to his mom and signed something. She set her rag down and said to Richard "Apparently I am lacking in manners. I didn't introduce you and my son has informed me that's rude." She didn't look at him, of course, and her voice held a weary tone. She was torn between keeping her son from danger yet still appearing like a civilized human, and the harder she tried at one the more she failed at the other. "I'm sorry; I don't know what your name is."

"Richard... Harrow."

"Oh. How do you spell that? I'm sorry."

Richard spelled his last name slowly for her.

She tapped Chris to get his attention because his eyes were once again riveted on Richard, and when she had his attention both signed and said "This is Mr. Harrow." Chris turned to face Richard; Gwen interpreted as he signed "Nice to meet you, Mr. Harrow. I'm Chris."

"It's very nice...to meet you," Richard replied with a small nod. Gwen noticed that he spoke directly to Chris; most people would speak to her and say 'tell him I said...'. Chris held Richard's eye as he continued the conversation, but Gwen was a bit nervous about voicing his question. "Excuse us a moment, please?" she asked Richard. He gave a small nod and she caught her son's attention. Richard found the movement of their hands beautiful, and he realized it was more than just the way they moved their hands; they conveyed meaning or emphasis with facial expressions and subtle body language. Whatever they discussed ended with Chris giving Richard a sheepish grin.

"Sorry," Gwen said, just as sheepishly. "We both know it's rude to talk like that. But...well..." she twisted the toe of her left foot bashfully as two crimson splotches appeared on her pale cheeks. "He had a very...um...sensitive question and...um...I had to explain that sometimes you don't...um..you know...say everything you're thinking." She dared a quick glance at his face, expecting Richard to be offended or angry, but she saw nothing but mild curiosity, like he wanted to know what Chris wanted to ask but wouldn't go so far as to actually ask. "I should get back to work," she hurriedly added, her eyes lowered once more.

"Is there anything, mm. I can...do to help? "

"Oh, thank you. No...this...this is not something you need to worry about. Thank you, though." She turned and grabbed her rag, resuming scrubbing a table that probably hadn't been polished in a decade. Richard stepped into the hallway, partially to be out of her way, but mostly to be away from her and Chris. Easier to be indifferent if he couldn't see them. He stepped out of the building and walked to the corner where he bought a newspaper, then he went back and made himself comfortable and read.

He had just finished the front section and was about to start on sports when Chris slipped in to the hall and made a gesture that was universal.

"Bathroom?" Richard tried to speak slow and clear, hoping maybe Chris could understand. But between the mask and the fact that his mouth didn't move like it should, maybe it was futile.

But Chris nodded vigorously, so maybe it wasn't.

Richard stood up and motioned for Chris to follow, leading the boy down the hall a few doors and opening one on the left side. Chris hurried inside and all but slammed the door in his haste. A few minutes later he came out, wiping his hands on his thighs. He looked at Richard, shook his head and made a gesture; his hands held slightly behind either side of his neck moving left to right and back again vigorously. Richard had seen that motion before, made it himself in fact. It looked exactly like drying off after a shower.

Oh!

"No...towel?" Good God, if that looked as odd as that felt as he enunciated slowly...he almost shuddered to imagine how it must look from Chris's point of view.

And yes, it looked odd to Chris; but mostly because it was confusing when half the mouth moved but half didn't. And the half that did moved didn't move quite right, almost as if something under the mask was pulling on it. Chris REALLY wanted to know what the mask hid; but if she thought asking about the dots was rude, he was pretty sure his mom would explode if he asked *that*!

There were so many things Chris would love to ask Mr. Harrow; not just about his mask, but like where he was from, how old was he, was he really a murderer like his mom said... but it just wouldn't work. Even if Chris could make himself understood, how would he know how Mr. Harrow replied? A small sigh escaped as he turned and walked back to the office, his posture slightly disheartened. He sat down in the chair and pulled his legs up, resting his chin on his knees.

Gwen looked up, saw Chris looking downcast, saw Richard standing in the door looking worryingly at her son.

"What happened?" she snapped at Richard as she rushed to her son to see if he was hurt and ask the same question of him.

_*-I had to go to the bathroom so I asked Mr. Harrow-*_

"So I took...him down the, mm. Hall...and he. Mm...went-"

_*-and I washed my hands but had to dry them on my pants-*_

"-then he. Shook his head and...did. mm, this..." Richard imitated the motion. "Towel? I don't...know-"

*_-I just want to talk to him but I can't!-*_

Gwen had assumed the worst, of course. But they told her the same story and she realized they had both been right, she was over reacting about Mr. Harrow. She also realized she probably wasn't going to stop over reacting about him, that she would likely never trust him around Chris. He had never denied being a murderer, and he had never indicated that killing them wasn't an option. In fact, he made bit rather clear he could have killed them any time he wanted, he just hadn't wanted to **yet**. She didn't understand how she wasn't supposed to over react, knowing that.

"Is he...alright?" Richard asked. Gwen nodded but said nothing, her face etched with sadness as she stroked her son's hair. Richard knew she had been thinking he had done something despicable to the boy, and he couldn't help but be angry at that. He could understand maternal protectiveness, but this was more along the lines of overblown paranoia. Did she think he wasn't human? Did she just assume that because he did some immoral things that everything he did was immoral? She must think there was some initiation into the illegal liquor trade that involved sacrificing a virgin and selling one's soul with the promise to wreak havoc at every turn. She would probably scoff if she was told that most of the guys who worked for Lansky were normal family men outside the office.

He, of course, was a different story. Normal could no longer apply to him; he returned from the war so completely shredded; physically, emotionally, and mentally; that he often felt that his entire being, not just the left side of his face, was a tin shell painted to look just real enough to be sent out to pretend at being human.

*You've got all your limbs. So you're missing half your face; that won't keep you from getting a job some where.* is basically what they said. And while it was true his injuries weren't as severe as some, no one took in to account that his mind had been affected as well.

He was released back into a world he couldn't cope with, forced to deal with a society he could no longer relate to. After what he had seen people do to others and after all he had done to other people; knowing that it was possible and oh so easy to be vicious and destructive when it suited them, he could no longer look at people and believe there was any truth to the caring facades they wore, even though they really thought there was.

Richard knew there was something wrong with him, no sane person was completely comfortable dealing death while being so utterly uneasy around the living. That was why he worked for Meyer.

But that didn't mean that he went around looking for people to kill, and he was certainly not so desensitized that he was going to stand there and let this woman silently judge and condemn him when she couldn't even bear to look at him.

"I'll wait outside," he said stiffly. "Take your...time here." He turned and left them alone, berating himself for letting his wall slip even slightly. It hurt that she thought so little of him as a human, and he knew it would hurt and that was why it was better not to care.

He sat in the car for hours rebuilding that wall, recalling every horrified stare and rude comment he had endured and using the hatred and pain to pull himself inside a shell where he could hide.

When Gwen came out shortly before five with a still subdued Chris holding her hand, Richard held the car door open for them, but he said nothing, not even acknowledging her rote thank you. He stopped at the corner she so favored with even asking if she wanted him to take her all the way home, he knew she didn't and would only think he was plotting to kill her son if he offered.

He mumbled something about Meyer being in touch before he pulled away from the curb and sped home.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Thank you so very much for reading this. I know it's a bunch of short little chapters but it's easier to write that way. **

More Than Words-Chapter 10

"What the fuck happened to the carpet out there?" Meyer demanded of Richard the next day.

"That wasn't...carpet. It was, mm. Dust stuck to the floor."

"Oh. Well then...she did a damn good job . Petey and Digger thought we were bracing for a raid when they walked in." Meyer paused, using the excuse of lighting a cigarette to quickly study Richard. He looked tired and seemed harder around the edges. Meyer wasn't exactly a friend, but he was more concerned for Harrow than just a boss being worried for an employee. When Richard had shown up with news of Jimmy Darmody's death, he had been so numb he was almost a statue. There had been grief shared between Harrow, Lansky, and Charlie Luciano, along with whiskey and memories of the young man. Richard had lost, not only his best friend, but also his purpose in life. Meyer asked Richard what he planned to do; Richard had nothing planned, so Meyer invited him to stay. And he had.

Meyer had discovered something interesting and occasionally useful; if you got Richard drunk enough and asked questions, the quiet man became chattier than a gossiping grandmother. Meyer didn't know why he was so curious about what was bothering Richard this time, but he pulled out the bottle of whiskey any good businessman kept in his desk drawer and poured two glasses, handing one to Richard, who took it without protest. Meyer pulled a straw out from a cupful that he kept specifically for the masked man. (He hadn't had any on hand that very first night, and it had been painful watching Richard figure out just how to hitch his mouth so he could toss the shot down. He ended up flinging his mask away without thought and tilted his head back and to the right to get most of the liquor in his mouth and down his throat. That hadn't been any less painful to watch.)

He kept Richard's glass full as he ran ideas about what to do with Gwen since she had cleaned the office. It was a more difficult task than he imagined it would be; what, exactly, was a young mob boss to do with a petrified, illiterate, poverty stricken woman? The brothels were out; thin might be all the rage but brink of starvation was a bit extreme. She couldn't read, so Meyer couldn't use her as a clerk or secretary.

"What about O'Connell's?" Meyer suggested.

"No," Richard shook his head. "She'd miss. Mm, half the shift because...of her second. Job."

"What about Hills?"

"Jerry would...eat her alive."

Meyer topped off Richard' s glass, noting that he was slightly swaying in his seat. Good; he'd be talkative soon. He certainly wasn't chatty now. Every suggestion Meyer had, Richard said no to, and eventually he stopped giving reasons why he thought they wouldn't work.

"Well, then," Meyer said with as much patience as he could muster, "what do you suggest?"

"I suggest you set, mm. Someone else...as her damn baby sitter."

Oh...he was cussing. Meyer was probably going to regret this.

"Why?" he asked mildly.

"Because I'm tired of her. Looking at me like, mm. My only goal is...to kill her son." Richard held his empty glass out to Meyer, who obligingly refilled it. "I can't stand...how...mm. Frightened of me. She is." He sucked his drink down, and as he stared at the bottom of the now empty glass, he admitted "They're making me care. And I don't. Mm, want that." With a bit of prompting from Meyer, Richard explained what had happened the previous day.

Meyer exhaled heavily and tried to think of what to say. He could fix money issues, and he had a knack for smoothing over arguments and tense personal disputes. But this was not exactly an area he was an expert in. He knew Richard had trouble relating to people, and he knew Richard did his best to remain completely indifferent to them. He didn't understand Richard's reasonings for it, but how could he, when he hadn't experienced the things Richard had? Meyer didn't think it a wise course, personally; but since he wouldn't want someone lecturing him on *his* life choices, he wasn't going to be hypocritical and do so to Richard. He WANTED to, but he wouldn't.

"Alright," he simply said, giving a small nod. "Benny doesn't have anything else going on right now. I'll put him on it."

Richard's head shot up, his eye wide with alarm. "Not Siegel. " The thought of that abusive, sadistic prick near Gwen or Chris put his heart in his throat. Benny could be very charming when it came to the fairer sex, but if charm didn't work, he wouldn't hesitate to forcefully take what he wanted. And dear God, how many ways could Siegel find to torment such a trusting boy as Chris? Especially once he found out the boy was deaf? Richard shuddered at the images that popped into his head, and he knew they were mild compared to what Benny could do.

"It's you or Benny. This is a very unique situation and I can't trust it to any of those schmucks," he waved towards the outer office. "So either give Benny the details or stay on it. The choice is yours." Richard gave Meyer a glare that would have curdled milk, set his glass on the desk, stood up and left the office, not quite as gracefully as normal, but not nearly as stumblingly as he should have been with half a bottle of whiskey in him.

Benny was playing cards with some of the guys, and Richard couldn't refrain from glaring at him as he walked by. Benny didn't seem to notice, but when Richard was gone Benny tossed his cards down and went in to Meyer's office without bothering to knock.

"Come in, Benny," Meyer said without looking up from the paper he was reading. "Sure, I can talk. I'm not doing anything at the moment."

Benny threw himself into the chair Richard had vacated, one leg dangling over an arm of the chair; he chose to ignore Meyer's sarcasm.

"What's Moon Pie's problem? He just glared at me like he wants to kill me."

"He does," Meyer reminded his friend.

"I don't understand why. I'm a likable guy."

"It *might* have something to do with the fact you always call him Moon Pie," Meyer speculated. "Or the fact that he thinks you're an unstable, out-of-control nutjob."

"Watch it, pal," Siegel growled; that last was a little to close to a nerve. But Meyer wasn't cowed or even vaguely concerned. He and Benny went way back, and Meyer knew just how far he could go with his friend's sensitive ego.

"I'm just saying," Meyer said. "You two view things differently..."

"Yeah. I view things with both eyes." Benny laughed at his joke; Meyer could barely muster a smile. "So what had you and Moon Pie holed up for so long? No...wait, lemme guess! You asked how his day was and it took him twenty minutes to stammer out 'boring'!"

"Why are you being such an ass today?"

"I just wanna know what you were talking about."

"Business. Specifically, none of yours."

"We're partners, ain't we?"

"Like you tell me every thing you got going."

"You're gonna kill some one, " Benny reasoned. "That's why you were in here with Moon Pie, isn't it?"

"You figured it out," Meyer replied dryly. "Did you need anything else?"

"Something to do. I'm bored as hell."

"You don't have collections to make?" Meyer replied pointedly. "What about making sure everyone's flush with product? You don't want Charlie getting back and finding out you let shit get low."

Benny knew a dismissal when he heard one, and he was pissed that Meyer was treating him like an inconsequential child. He didn't realize it, but his entire attitude lately was due to the fact that he was jealous of Harrow and how easily the man had managed to integrate himself in to the operation, while Benny had had to work his way in; perform every menial task Lansky and Luciano set before him, ranging from file boy (as in 'here boy, file these serial numbers off these guns') to delivery boy (here boy...take this herion and deliver it and for the love of god don't shoot any one). Benny didn't understand that he still had the maturity level of a five year old raised by rabid wolves; finding joy in pain and destruction, always hoping for a violent resolution to every problem, pushing people to their breaking point for the pleasure of it. Harrow, on the other hand...Benny saw him as a crusty ninety year old woman in a thirty year old man's body. Harrow was a stick in the mud who wouldn't know how to have fun if it was hand delivered with written instructions. Everything Harrow did was precise and thought out. He had no spontaneity, no excitement, and that was such a strange concept to Benny. Benny couldn't picture Harrow as having any adaptability, so he couldn't see Harrow as being useful in any situation that wasn't a planned hit. Also, Harrow's utter lack of emotion made the passionate Benny exceptionally uncomfortable; that was part of the reason Benny was always poking at the veteran. He wanted some sort of rise out of the man; until he got some display of emotion he would not believe Harrow was human.

"Goodbye, Benny," Meyer said pointedly since his young friend wasn't taking the gentle hint. Benny gave a put-upon sigh and stood up. When he left the office, he slammed the door hard enough to rattle the glass. Meyer tiredly rubbed the bridge of his nose and hoped Benny took his temper out before he started his collections. The last thing Meyer needed was half a neighborhood making no income because everyone was in the hospital or the morgue.


	11. Chapter 11

More Than Words-Chapter 11

Sunday night, Chris retreated to his room without supper, telling Gwen he was still thinking about his father. Gwen spent the evening sitting at the table thinking about Mr. Harrow. She couldn't help her constant fear that he was going to kill Chris...every thing about him seemed menacing. She felt guilty for the thought, but his appearance: the mask, the scars, the way he stood so tall and looming; and his raspy, broken voice! They were frightening. She was a bad person for judging him for such things, she knew this and wished that she didn't have the thoughts! But they were there and she wasn't a good enough person to move past them.

She tried very hard to think about what he might be like when he wasn't working; bootleggers and mobsters had lives, didn't they? Because she had thought so many vile things about him, she felt she had to balance that by at least trying to think of him as normal, to picture him doing things she could relate to. But try as she might, she couldn't do it. Her mind would not place the man in conventional domestic routine; she could not see him coming home to a wife, kissing her cheek as she handed him a drink...how could he drink anyway, with the mask? That sent Gwen through a five minute experiment at the sink with a glass of water and her hand held over half her face as she tried to work out how he might manage something she did without thinking. All she accomplished was soaking her blouse, and she chided herself for being as nosey as Chris. She stripped her blouse and set it aside to be washed, then walked to the couch and pulled her nightgown from under the pillow, slipping it over her head before she took down her skirt and hung it over the back of a kitchen chair; it was clean enough to wear later in the week. She tried to sleep but never succeeded in getting any deeper than the lightest doze. She worked extra hard on focusing the next morning, acutely aware of Mr. Fazio's hawkish gaze on her the entire time. By the time her shift was over, there was a dull headache throbbing behind her eyes that soon took the same rhythm of the sewing machines surrounding her. She was ready to crawl home and bury her head under a pillw for a day or two, but she still had cleaning to do at Mrs. Mazetti's; which she did while the older woman, who didn't want to seem like a nagging mother, lectured Gwen about how absolutely foolish it had been to leave Jeff alone with Chris and money. (Chris had told his sitter all about that fiasco, of course) She didn't say anything Gwen hadn't already berated herself with, but the added recriminations did nothing to help Gwen's bruised conscious; by the time she was done and managed to get Chris bundled and out the door she would have gladly buried herself for a week if she could have but she needed to make dinner and draw Chris a bath, then do up some laundry after Chris was in bed.

Chris didn't eat much, which concerned her; and his bath didn't involve as much splashing as usual, which also concerned her. She tried striking up a conversation, but neither one really had the heart for it. She felt like she owed him an apology, for what she wasn't entirely certain; the entire miserable life he led because he had the misfortune of being the offspring of an irresponsible man and a woman who was too stupid to do anything right?

She was up most of the night doing laundry, and Tuesday was a repeat of Monday, only with a more intense headache. By Wednesday, she was so exhausted she couldn't see straight and she ended up jamming her sewing machine; the verbal reaming she received from her supervisor almost had her in tears. She could only stammer an apology and promise to be more careful. Luckily she didn't lose her job, but her pay was docked for the forty minutes it took to get her machine fixed.

She managed some sleep that night, although it was plagued with nightmares that tossed everything stressful in her life in to one horrific jumbled mess.

Chris was still very quiet Wednesday morning; he assured Gwen he was fine but had a lot of things to think about and he was trying to figure them out. Gwen asked Mrs. Mazetti to see if she could get anything out of Chris, thinking maybe it was something he couldn't discuss with his mother.

Mr. Fazio was in a horrible mood and took it out on Gwen from the moment she walked in, and the headache that had mostly retreated came back with a vengance. No matter what she did or how she did it, it was wrong; she was afraid to breathe for fear of being fired.

As she hurried from one job to the next, she once again had that odd feeling of being watched. She put it down to stress and exhaustion catching up to her; her life had never been easy but the past week had just been insane, plus with worry over Chris added in it was really a wonder she wasn't having full blown hallucinations, as opposed to just imagining someone was watching her. And really, who would watch her? Who would even notice little old her?

Thursday happened, Gwen assumed, although she didn't notice it passing. The only reason she knew it was Friday was because Mr. Fazio had her straightening the stock room and that was a Friday thing. She felt like shit, she looked like shit (not that she ever thought she looked otherwise) and she was really having problems keeping her mind focused on anything. Luckily, Friday meant payday at her second job; if she hadn't lost too much pay the other day, she might be able to scrap up enough spare money that she could get Chris a bit of cheese to cheer him up.

_*My God...the biggest treat for my son is cheese. Not a new toy, not a trip to Coney Island...cheese. How awful am I as a mother? I've never taken him any place interesting or exciting...or further than ten blocks from home. Thank goodness Mrs. Mazetti was willing to help some of the neighborhood kids with basic sign or else he would have no one his age to play with! It's not fair to him! I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I never thought it would get this bad. I wonder if my hair is long enough to sell again. I can get a few bucks for that, and with some careful saving, maybe I can surprise him by taking him to a baseball game? He would love that! I can't say anything though...I won't get his hopes up only to have it turn bad. But if it works? He'll be happier than he's ever been.*_

That little thought helped get her through the day, but when she got her pay, all good cheer evaporated when she saw how much had been docked for the down time earlier in the week. She wasn't going to have anything left after rent to spare for food, much less a special treat.

She walked to Mrs. Mazetti's very slowly that night, heart heavy and utterly exhausted in every way. She had always held a faint hope that some day, some how, things would get better; she knew she would never wake up one morning in one of those posh Manhattan penthouses, but she held out hope that there would be a week where they ate something other than thin soup that got more watery each day, or where they could afford to take the subway out and spend a fun day in Manhattan or at Coney Island. But not this week, not next week...probably not ever. She didn't want to lose hope, but it was getting very hard to be even wistfully optomistic.


	12. Chapter 12

More Than Words-Chapter 12

Gwen and Chris were sitting at the table, talking. Chris had finally snapped out of his quiet spell and was very chatty. His conversation was about Mr. Harrow, and he didn't shy away from telling his mother what he thought of the way she treated him.

"You never said anything about what a jerk Dad is because you didn't want me to think bad about him, right?" Chris reminded her. "And you KNOW for certain what kind of guy his is. But you just immediately assume that Mr. H is a horrible man and you don't even know him!" Gwen blinked, shocked at the vehemence Chris was emoting. He had been stewing on this for a week, trying at first to decide if he was just being obstinate, wanting to buck against his mother's authority. Maybe he was just for the man because he looked so interesting; after all he had those scars and the mask and if you added in the fact he was a killer...well, what ten year old wouldn't be intrigued?

But Mrs. M had sat him down Wednesday and asked what had been on his mind so much that his mother was concerned, and Chris had eventually explained as much as he could. Mrs. M was actually on his mom's side, agreeing that a man they had met only because he was close to killing Chris's dad was not the kind of person one became friends with. Chris had stated that, just because someone got paid to do something, that didn't mean their whole life was defined by what they got paid to do. He tried to use the milk man and police as examples; Mrs. M pointed out that there was a very big difference between bringing dairy products to someone's door and bringing death. *But Mr. H wasn't born a killer, * Chris had argued, and he reasoned that maybe it was the only thing he could do any more because of his injuries. He hadn't been able to convince Mrs. M that Mr. H wasn't evil, but he was more certain than ever that he was right. Yes, he understood his mom's fears; he wasn't stupid. But he really did think she was over reacting; they would be dead by now if Mr. H was going to kill them, and if Dad got in to so much trouble that Mr. H did have to kill them, paranoia did not serve as a bullet proof shield.

"Chris, honey," Gwen said wearily; she didn't want to have this conversation at all, and certainly not with the week she'd had. "The situations are completely different. Being a lousy mooch is one thing, being a killer is another. But-"she added quickly when she saw her son's shoulders take on the tension that meant he was gearing up for an argument. "You're right that my actions are..." she didn't know the sign for hypocritical and she had no idea how it was spelled so she spelled it the way it sounded "h-i -p-i-k-r-i-t-i-k-l-e...so I simply won't say anything about either of them."

"But you're still going to shove me behind you if Mr. H shows up. And you're still going to look at him like he's plotting my murder if he looks at is that any less h-i-p-i-...whatever...? If you didn't want to influence my thinking of Dad with your own feelings why are you trying to influence me about Mr. H?"

"They are not even remotely the same situation!"

"You're right. Dad didn't tell you that he was irresponsible and unreliable. You had to figure that out yourself. At least Mr. H doesn't lie about what he is." Chris was all but shouting, his signs were rapid and emphatic, his eyes narrow and his mouth pinched.

"Why can't you just accept that I don't trust the man? That I think he's a threat to your safety?" If it had been spoken, Gwen would have asked the question through clenched teeth.

"Because I think you're wrong." Chris looked her in the eyes as he said it, and did not look down while she processed what he had said. He could see she was angry, probably because he had never really gone against her before; sure, he had disobeyed from time to time, but when it came to people (especially adults) he usually followed his mother's lead. But not this time; he just couldn't believe that Mr. H was nothing but a murderer. Oh, he didn't doubt for one moment that Mr. H *was* a murderer, but Chris was convinced that was only one small part of the man, and that it most certainly was not the thing that defined who he was. Chris thought about the couple of times Mr. H had approached them; the first time it had seemed like the man had tried to make himself smaller, like he had been aware that he towered over Chris and Gwen and that that might make them both uncomfortable, and he didn't want to alarm them more than they already were. And last week, when he'd knocked on the door, Chris thought he had looked nervous, the way he had clutched his hat and not made much eye contact. Chris really didn't think that was typical behaviour for a bloodthirsty killer.

True, this was all just based on a feeling, but that was exactly what his mom was going on so neither of them really had room to argue. Not that she was going to see it that way. He expected her to argue, or flat out say that Chris was wrong; but she instead asked "Why is what I think of him so important to you?"

"I think maybe Mr. H and I both get less consideration than other people because of our conditions. You know people just write me off because I can't hear or talk, and I bet Mr. H gets a lot of grief because of his face. I know it makes you mad when people do it to me." And he left it at that. Let her think about that for a bit. He must have nailed at least part of the problem because she lowered her eyes and twisted her hands, a sure sign that she didn't know what to say.

Chris left her to think, going over to the couch and sitting down; Mrs. M had given him some paper and a pencil so he could draw her something pretty, so he started on that. His mom sat at the table with her hands clasped in front of her mouth, deep in thought. Chris glanced at her from time to time as he drew, and eventually he noticed that she was looking at him. She beckoned him back to the table, and when he joined her she said "You're right, as much as I hate to admit it. I think the way Mr. H looks does affect my opinion of him. I wish I was a good enough person to get beyond that fact, but I'm not. But the night your father led him here, I never noticed what he looked like. All I knew was he put you in danger. I think, under other circumstances, Mr. Harrow might be a nice man to know. But I don't think I will ever get beyond the fact that he kills people. I can't help but worry about your safety." Chris sighed, knowing his mother's mind was made up and that nothing short of a miracle would change it.

"Fine," he replied, saddened that he hadn't been able to change her mind. "Can you at least try to act like he has some other thought in his head other than turning me in to Swiss cheese? I think it makes him uncomfortable."

Gwen blinked at him, slightly surprised. She had never considered that. She had never actually considered that he had feelings. She had just assumed that killers didn't; how could you kill someone if you were capable of empathizing with them?

Chris must have known exactly what she was thinking because he said "He *is* human, Mom. Regardless of what he does and how he looks, he is human. Maybe you need to try to think of him that way first. Maybe once you understand that, you can work on the rest." And as far as he was concerned, the conversation was over. He left the table and got ready for bed, feeling disappointed in his mother. He really thought she was a better person but she seemed surprised by the fact that Mr. H was a person and that he could be hurt or offended just like any one else. Maybe if she hadn't been so obsessed with that one unpleasant fact she would see the situation more clearly. He wished she understood that.


	13. Chapter 13

More Than Words-Chapter 13

The floor was hard on his knees, but Richard ignored the pain and kept his attention focused down the barrel of his rifle. The stock was nestled comfortably against his shoulder; the wooden grip smooth beneath his hand, darkened slightly in the spot it always rested. His finger was on the trigger, ready. He had been kneeling at the window for twenty minutes, waiting for his target to emerge from the movie theater across the street. Spring air drifted across his skin, cool and damp; he felt like a puddle was collecting in his eye socket but he ignored that, too. Discomfort could be eased once the job was done; until then his only concern was his target.

The theater doors opened and a crowd came out; families and young couples on dates, a few groups of giggling girls sighing over how dreamy the star had been. And then...the target. Tall and well dressed, an aspiring starlet on his arm. Richard didn't know the dentils, nor did he care, but Meyer had told him that Paul Marucci had to go, and so here he was. Richard waited, minutely adjusted his aim, and when the shot was clear, he squeezed the trigger.

The morning papers would describe it as another hit in the war between bootleggers. The aspiring starlet would be quoted as saying she had no idea that her date had been an enforcer in Joe Masseria's army of organized crime; he just seemed so *nice*. There would be a public outcry about how no one was safe anywhere, if the gangsters were picking each other off in such public places. The police would find no clues as to who the shooter was. Richard would think of the man he had shot, like he thought of all the others, aware that he should feel horror or remorse but feeling nothing. He remembered that he had been horrified after the first one, sick after the second...but at some point it had stopped bothering him and eventually it became nothing. He remembered his victims for the fact he felt nothing when he killed them; if he couldn't grieve he could at least recall them. Someday, maybe, it would hit him; perhaps he would just be walking along and he would suddenly crumple under the guilt, or he might be sitting at his dining table and become overwhelmed by the atrocities he was responsible for. If that ever came to pass, he would follow through with something he had tried once years ago; he would take himself off to the woods, put a gun in his mouth, and pull the trigger. He didn't like being so desensitized to death (although he had learned it wasn't uncommon among veterans) but he knew he would never be able to live if a time ever came when he wasn't.

He went back to the office to report the deed done, finding it almost completely empty. Digger and Enzio were in the outer office; they gave Richard a cordial welcome as he came in, Enzio grinning broadly.

"Gina's pregnant!" he announced with pride.

"Congratulations," Richard said, genuinely happy for Enzio and his wife and profoundly saddened at the thought that he would never make the same announcement. "When is...she due?"

"Enda August, near's we can figger. Looks like I gave her a extra special Christmas present!" He laughed and nudged Digger with his elbow. Richard gave a small chuckle, pushed down his envy, and asked where everyone else was.

"Meyer's got 'em out lookin' for some fella who's supposed t'meet wid'im, " Digger explained. "Meyer's in th'office; Lucky's in there, too." Richard nodded and went into the inner office.

"It's done," he told Meyer without pre-amble. Chances were good Charlie and Meyer were discussing business and Richard didn't want to interrupt too much.

"Good. Any problems?"

"No."

"Whaddaya talkin' about?" Charlie asked from his perch on a filing cabinet. He had been out of the city for almost two weeks, taking care of some business for Arnold Rothstein, and he felt like he was out of the loop.

"One of Masseria's guys robbed Garbaldi's, raped his daughter right in front of him..."

"The asshole not realize Garbaldi's is one of A.R.'s favorite delis?" Charlie asked, honestly shocked that anyone could be that stupid.

"The asshole didn't care," Meyer replied. "Thought Masseria would protect him. But, Masseria wants to keep peace, so he told A.R. to do what he felt best." End of story; Meyer turned back to Richard. "I need you to go get Gwen; there are a couple of matters I need to discuss with her."

"It's late, and...her son is. Probably, mm...asleep."

"So?"

"So I'm not... Going there tonight."

Meyer cocked his eyebrow at Richard. Richard met his gaze coolly. Charlie had no idea what was going on.

"I'm not asking you," Meyer pointed out. "I'm telling you. Go get her, bring the kid if you have to, but I want her in this office in an hour."

Richard's jaw clenched; he was torn between following a direct order and giving the woman some peace. He also didn't want to deal with her and her overblown paranoia, but that was another story. "Dragging her, mm. Over here this late. Won't improve her...opinion of us."

"We are not a band of upstanding citizens, and she knew that when she volunteered. An hour, Richard. I assume that gives you enough time?"

Richard gave a curt nod and left the office. Charlie waited for the walls to stop ringing with the force of Richard's door slamming then asked "What's this all about? That's as emotional as I've ever seen him. Well, sober at any rate."

"Oh! That's right! You weren't here!" Meyer leaned towards Charlie and began to fill him in. "The night you left for Philly, I get a call about this guy, Jeff Taylor, who's in for three hundred and doesn't even have lint in his pocket. Now, I'm supposed to be having dinner with Annette-"

"That broad with the gorgeous tits?"

"Most people would have said 'oh, the red head?' But yes, Charlie, the one with the gorgeous tits. Anyway, so I'm supposed to have this date but instead I'm in the fucking Diamond Club dealing with some asshole who doesn't know when to walk away from a table-"

"God bless those assholes," Charlie said as he raised his glass.

"Do you wanna hear this or not?"

"I'm trying to figure out what any of this has to do with Harrow stomping out of here like a pissed off princess."

"I'd get there if you would shut up for five minutes. Now, may I? Thank you. So Taylor owes me money, and I tell him either I get money or else, and I send Richard off with him, figuring I'm gonna get money or Richard will kill him; win-win either way.

"So a few hours go by, and Richard comes back with Taylor in tow. Seems the asshole managed to get money outta some woman he had a kid with. She's freaked out that Taylor led Harrow right to her door, and she knows Taylor is worthless and won't pay me, so she volunteers to pay off what he owes to keep me from going after her son. It's enough to me that I get money, but there's an added bonus. Richard is torn between wanting to keep that indifference he displays and wanting to help this woman. And my God does she need help!" Meyer paused and lit a cigarette. "I don't want Richard completely shelling up; I don't know...maybe it's one last thing I can do for Jimmy. I'm going to keep pushing Richard and Gwen together. Maybe he'll see that to be alive you gotta let people in, and as for her...well, I have this weird feeling she needs Richard."

"You're playing Cupid."

"Not exactly," Meyer shrugged. "I don't see everlasting love coming out of this. I just see an opportunity that two parties can benefit from."

Charlie shook his head. "It ain't gonna work. Richard'll hide inside himself faster than a turtle pulling into his shell. If he wanted companionship, he'd'a found it by now."

"Not companionship, Charlie. You'll understand what I mean when you see the way he protectively hovers around her."

"You think he's gonna bring her?" Charlie was skeptical; in spite of his detachment from almost everything, Richard had an extremely strong sense of basic decency and inherent morals that so conflicted with what the man did on a nightly basis. Honestly, Charlie figured it most likely that Richard would completely ignore Meyer's order.

"He'll bring her," Meyer replied with certainty. "Don't forget our emotionally confused hitman was a soldier; why do you think I worded it the way I did? He'll go over and get her, and you know every other sentence will start with 'I'm sorry but Meyer...'. I'll be the asshole in this situation, Richard gets to fluff over Gwen like a mother hen-"

"I wasn't aware hens fluffed," Charlie commented.

"Whatever. You know what I mean. And this should give Gwen a chance to see that Richard is ridiculously polite and doesn't spend every breath plotting murder."

"I still don't think it'll work."

"Trust me," Meyer said with a knowing grin.

"Meyer wants. Mm, to see you," Richard said as soon as Gwen opened the door.

"Oh...uh...alright. Um...what about Chris?" She felt panic rising; being summoned to Lansky's office at this time of night couldn't be good, but her conversation with Chris was still fresh in her mind, so she did her best to keep it in check.

"Bring him."

Gwen simply nodded and tried not to think about how easy it would be to kill both her and Chris once Mr. Harrow had them both in one spot. Of course, it would be just as easy for him to kill them right in the apartment, and he hadn't done so yet so worrying was doing her no good.

"It will take me a minute to get Chris ready," she said, shyness dictating that she address his shoes. "Would you...like to come in while you wait?"

Richard's eye narrowed suspiciously at her sudden display of manners, and he replied with the only thing he could think of. "So I'm that much...closer to. Your son? Easier to...kill him." Gwen flinched as if he had hit her, and he regretted his words immediately.

"I had been trying to not think along those lines," she retorted stiffly but quietly. "But you're right. Give us a moment, please." She shut the door, leaving Richard feeling like an ass. She was being polite and maybe she actually hadn't been thinking her usual thoughts (although given his brusk statement it would have been a logical conclusion for her to make). This just proved that Richard was best keeping his distance. Obviously social niceties were lost on him any more.

It didn't take Gwen long to come back to the door, Chris at her side. The boy grinned happily at Richard and signed something.

"Good evening, Mr. H!" Gwen interpreted. "How are you?"

"Fine. Thank you," Richard replied, once again addressing Chris directly. "I'm sorry to...disturb you. So late..." He shot a quick glance at Gwen, but she was looking at Chris as she translated. "That's alright," she relayed from Chris. "I was too busy thinking to be asleep." Chris paused then added "Is this about Dad? Is he in more trouble?"

The boy looked up at Richard with wide, trusting eyes. They slipped right past every barricade Richard had wrapped around himself, burrowing in to the depths of his soul and making him want all those things he knew he could never have. It hurt and he didn't like it one bit. But those eyes demanded nothing less than honesty.

"I don't...know. I just know that. Mm, Meyer would like...to speak with your mother."

"Is Mom in trouble?" Chris asked with worry. There was a note of fear in Gwen's voice as she repeated her son's question.

"No!" Richard quickly assured them both. "He just. Mm, wants... To talk." Gwen visibly relaxed, not much but enough to reiterate how frightened she was by this unexpected summons. A war waged inside Richard: stay distant and brusk and therefore save himself from being hurt; or be the decent person he should have been and let this woman have some peace? He wanted both, but he knew that he couldn't do both. Something in him had split somewhere along the way, and it seemed it was one or the other: he either cared not at all or he cared way too much. Look at the fantasies he had woven around Odette. And Angela...oh, he had loved her and dreamed of a life with her! He had never said anything to anyone about it, of course; and he had always felt a little guilty for it around Jimmy. He really hadn't felt this conflict inside of himself in a long while, and he had grown comfortable being numb. For the most part his dealings were with people it was easy to be indifferent to. But no one like Gwen and Chris had crossed his path since he came to New York, people who could stir so many emotions in him. He wanted to know them, talk with them, help them, be part of their lives; but he knew that could never happen. Gwen didn't trust him, saw him as a threat even though he would never do a thing to harm her or her son, and she would never believe otherwise. He knew this, and because he knew this he knew what his decision would be.

"We should go," he said, glad for once that his voice didn't express much emotion. "Meyer doesn't like...to be kept waiting."


	14. Chapter 14

More Than Words-Chapter 14

If she had been nervous the first time she met Lansky, then Gwen was well past terrified this time. Being summoned at this hour by anyone was never good, and the main thought going through her mind as she stared at the floorboard was 'What did Jeff screw up this time?'

She wanted to take Mr. Harrow at his word when he said Mr. Lansky only wanted to talk, and she was trying very hard to think about something other than Mr. Harrow killing them. That, she had moderate success with; although given the circumstances, it wasn't easy.

She obediently follow Richard inside, holding Chris's hand and repeatedly reminding herself not to crush it from fear. There were two men in the outer office; they greeted Gwen politely and the younger of the two gave Chris a big grin and wiggled his rather large ears, much to Chris' delight.

Richard went to the door and knocked, waving Gwen and Chris in when Meyer called out to enter.

"Cutting it close, " Meyer observed with a glance at his watch.

"Traffic," was all Richard said; his eye dared Lansky to say something to refute the statement and Lansky suddenly thought that Charlie might be right, that his scheme might not work at all. But then he looked closely and he noticed that Richard was standing in such a way that he was between Gwen and her son and Charlie and Meyer, and that Richard also had a clear shot behind should danger come from that direction. Meyer didn't know if it was a conscious move on Richard's part but it was certainly significant.

"This must be your son," Meyer said to Gwen. "Except for the eyes, kid looks exactly like his father." Unlike Gwen (who had found that ding in the desk once more), Chris had no problem meeting Meyer's eyes. The boy studied Meyer for a moment, then he looked over at Charlie, who was still perched on the file cabinet like a king on his throne. Chris was vaguely uneasy with these two, especially Charlie; although he appeared perfectly at ease he reminded Chris of a pot of water just shy of boiling...it was an odd image but Chris thought the dark haired man was always one wrong word or action away from dangerous. The other man, Mr. Lansky...well sure, he looked like he should be wearing short pants and selling newspapers, but those eyes were older and wiser than his face, and Chris didn't doubt that he was cunning and could be dangerous. Chris squeezed his mother's hand and moved a little closer to Mr. H.

Meyer noticed this and had an idea.

"Richard? Why don't you and the boy go sit out at a table for a while? I'd like to speak with Gwen alone."

Richard glanced at Gwen, expecting her to have shoved the boy behind her and to be glaring daggers at him, but she was explaining the situation to Chris. Whatever he replied with made her shake her head, and whatever she said in response made the boy look sheepishly embarrassed. Chris looked up at Richard and smiled as he let go of his mother's hand. Richard gave an inward sigh as his resolve to be distant melted with that smile. Why did the kid have to be so damn charming? Richard waved Chris toward the door and led him out of Meyer's office, sitting at a table with the boy and wondering 'now what?'

"You gonna be mannerly and introduce us?" Charlie asked when Richard shut the door.

"You wanna hold your horses?" Meyer retorted. "Let her see that Richard isn't gonna off the kid." Gwen was watching her son and the masked man through the window, and yes, it had crossed her mind at first that Richard could kill Chris. But she quickly pushed that aside because Chris had asked her too; when she explained the situation to Chris, she ended by saying 'good luck'. He rolled his eyes and said 'He is not going to kill me!' She shook her head and said 'That isn't what I meant. I am trying, sweetie. But I meant good luck talking with him. I know you want to, I just don't know quite how you'll do it.' Chris looked embarrassed at assuming, but it didn't last long as excitement at spending time with his new favorite person set in. As Gwen watched her son obediently sit in the chair Mr. Harrow pointed to, she wondered how the man felt about this situation. Did he like children? Was he patient enough to deal with a deaf and exceptionally curious boy? She couldn't worry about it right now, not with Meyer Lansky across the desk wanting to talk.

She turned back, although she did not look at Lansky or the man on the cabinet.

"You wanted to talk, sir?" she asked quietly.

"I did. I'm sure Richard apologized for how rude I am for calling you out this late..." he paused, expecting her to confirm that; but when she said "No, sir. He didn't say much of anything other than you wanted to talk," he didn't need to look at Charlie to know his raven haired friend would be wearing a very smug expression.

"Yes, well," Meyer continued, part of his mind running through other options while he carried on with the business at hand, "I apologize. But there are a few things I need to discuss. First, wonderful job cleaning out there-"

"Why'd you pull up the carpet?" Charlie interrupted as he lit a cigarette.

"It wasn't carpet, sir. Just a lot of dirt and dust stuck to the floor." Gwen couldn't help but crinkle her nose as she recalled how disgusted she had been when she had started scrubbing.

"Really? Good thing we never got a vacuum then, eh Meyer?"

"I think we nixed that when we realized no one would use it so it would just waste money." Meyer shrugged and said to Gwen "I know I told you I'd have something else lined up for you once you were done with that, but I figured it would take you a couple days. I'm still trying to figure that out; I'll be honest and admit I'm not quite sure what to do with you...you're not exactly my typical employee. Do you have any suggestions?"

"No, sir. What ever you think is best." She didn't see Meyer roll his eyes since she was staring at his desk.

"So if I decided to whore you out in a brothel, you would?"

"If that's what you want, then yes." She shifted nervously and added in a very soft voice "But if you actually want the debt paid you should find something else. I don't think many men would waste money on me."

"I wasn't *actually* thinking of turning you in to a whore," Meyer said with a gentleness that very few people ever saw. "I just...honestly, I'm at a loss. But give me a few more days; I'll come up with something." He hoped. "One of the other things I wanted to discuss is Jeff Taylor. He was supposed to meet me here at five. He didn't show, and he isn't in any of the places we normally find him. Do you have any idea where he might be?"

"No, sir. I'm sorry. I haven't seen him since Saturday morning."

"Saturday?"

"Yes, sir."

Meyer waited for her to explain, and finally prompted her when she stayed silent for a couple of minutes. Gwen, who had figured this was one of those 'speak only when spoken to' situations, explained.

"After our meeting last week, he was waiting outside my building when I got home. He said he needed a place to stay. I- I needed someone to watch my son when I came to clean here, so I told Jeff he could stay the weekend." She hoped he would leave it at that. If she told the rest, Mr. Lansky would see just how much of an idiot she was.

"Didn't you clean Sunday?" Charlie asked her.

"Yes, sir."

"But you last saw your husband Saturday?"

"We're not married, sir. But yes."

"I like how she 'sir's us," Charlie told Meyer. "Respectful. Course, if you'd'a introduced us, she could call me by name."

"She knows my name and she still sirs me," Meyer pointed out. "Charlie, this is Gwen. Gwen, this is Charlie. There! Are you happy?"

"I'd be happier with a big titted bitch on my-"

"Charlie! There is a lady present!" Meyer admonished. "Watch your language." Charlie rolled his eyes and fell silent. "Gwen, do you have any idea where Jeff could be?"

"Any place that has cheap liquor, gambling, or women. I know that doesn't really help, sir, but I really don't know, and as long as my son's life isn't in danger, I really don't care."

"And that brings me to the last thing I want to talk about. Charlie, will you excuse us?" Charlie shot Meyer a look because he was interested in this strange saga despite the nonchalant attitude he displayed, but he left without protest. When the door was shut, Meyer said "I'm going to be brutally honest, Gwen. You look like a damn raccoon. I know this week has been stressful for you; you didn't look this worn last week. I have two things that might ease things a bit. First," he reached in to his drawer and pulled something out, coming around his desk and handing it to Gwen. "When you get home, drink some of this; it oughtta put you right to sleep..."

Gwen looked at the bottle of whiskey he had handed her and blurted "But, Mr. Lansky, this is illegal!" And as soon as the words were out, she turned crimson and clamped her hand over her mouth as she realized what she had said and who she had said it to. She tried to stammer some apology, but that just didn't work. Meyer couldn't help but chuckle. "It is indeed illegal. I just happen to think it's a stupid law; so do a lot of people, and if you think about the fact that, if it wasn't illegal, you and I would not he here having this conversation, you would think it's stupid, too." Gwen didn't have time to think about it because Meyer kept talking. "The other thing...I want you to turn around, and look at Richard and your son, and while you do, listen to me very carefully." Gwen turned, and looked, and she listened. "Yes, Richard has killed people, he won't ever deny that. But he has never, I repeat never, harmed an innocent child or a woman. He'll hate me for telling you this, but it hurts him that you think he would do anything to hurt you or your son. Did you know, he's the only one who knows where you live? He won't even tell me, and I'm his boss. Do you know *why* he won't tell me? Because he saw how frightened you were the first time he showed up, and he didn't think it was right. He trusts himself, but he doesn't trust the rest of us; and maybe he's right in that. I know I wouldn't trust some of these guys with my dirty laundry, but Richard? I'd trust him with my life. He's not like the rest of us, Gwen, and if circumstances were different he wouldn't be here. Maybe I'm not the most trustworthy person in the city, but take a good look at the two of them there at that table, and then tell me a ruthless killer would sit with a deaf boy and communicate with notes."

Gwen had been doing nothing but taking a good look at the man and her son, processing what they were doing and trying to understand. She heard Meyer's words but would think if them later because...

"Mr. Lansky... Chris can't read or write."


	15. Chapter 15

More Than Words-Chapter 15

A/N: thanks for reading. Truly hope you are enjoying it.

Meyer Lansky didn't think like other men; he saw angles and possibilities in situations that others would miss, and that was part of the reason Meyer was so influential with men like Arnold Rothstein and why he was so successful on his own.

Richard knew Meyer didn't think like other men, yet that didn't stop him from trying to figure out what the short man was at when he told Richard to take Chris out of the inner office. If he was trying to unsettle Gwen, this would certainly do it; but why would he want to do that? Maybe Meyer didn't want the boy to hear a less-than-flattering conversation about his father...Had Richard mentioned the boy could read lips? He couldn't remember. All he knew was, trying to figure Meyer Lansky's logic was giving him a headache and it was a pointless exercise.

So he took Chris out, feeling Gwen's eyes on his back and wishing to God that he could really not care what she thought of him.

And then there was the boy himself, who was smiling like this was the most exciting thing he had ever done, looking at Richard like they were setting off on a great adventure. Chris sat down and signed something that Richard couldn't even begin to decipher; he thought maybe it had to do with Gwen but he really didn't know, so he shook his head and shrugged. Chris pointed quickly between himself and Richard a couple of times, then pointed to his mother through the glass, held one hand over his heart and fluttered it rapidly while his other hand pointed to his head and moved in a circle. **That**, Richard understood: this was either giving Gwen a heart attack or driving her crazy...probably both. He couldn't help but chuckle and nod in agreement. This made Chris very happy and he rapidly signed something that left Richard at a loss. This didn't make Chris happy at all; his shoulders slumped in defeat when Richard looked at him blankly and his face pinched with frustration. Richard had an idea; he stood up and crossed the office, returning to the table with paper and two pencils. When he saw the way Chris's face lit up at the sight of what he was holding, he thought his idea would work. He quickly wrote 'can you read?' on one of the sheets and showed it to the boy. Chris looked at it then up at Richard blankly.

"So much...for that," Richard muttered, which earned him a confused looked from Chris. So Chris couldn't read either. Well, they had a few minutes and nothing else to do...

Richard quickly wrote a word on a clean sheet of paper, then pointed at Chris and, as best as he could remember, he signed the letters of Chris' name, then pointed to the word. Chris looked at the word, then up at Richard; it wasn't complete confusion in his eyes but it wasn't full understanding either. Slowly, Richard made a 'C' with his hand, then wrote one on the paper, watching Chris for any sign of comprehension. He saw it when he got to the 'I', and when he wrote the 's', Chris pointed to the newly written word, then to himself. Richard nodded and smiled, slid paper and a pencil to the boy, and somehow managed to make clear that Chris should try writing his own name. Richard didn't expect much, he had seen enough just beginning handwritting in his time; but Chris's artistic bend helped a great deal. His letters were a bit shaky, and the 'r' was larger than the rest of the letters, but he looked at it like drawing something he saw: note the details and copy them to paper, working on them until they were just right.

Chris wrote his name over and over, feeling a strange excitement at this new found skill, and by the time he had written it forty times, his letters were all the same size and of even neatness.

Chris pointed to Richard and slowly moved his hand through what Richard recognized as 'Mr. H'. Richard carefully wrote each letter, and watched Chris copy and perfect it. Richard wrote the word 'Mom' and pointed through the glass to Gwen. Chris looked at her for a moment, down at the word Richard had written, and Richard could see in his face the moment Chris made the connection between the two. He smiled broadly at Richard and finger spelled the word, and Richard came to the realization that many of the finger sign letters looked very similar to their written counterparts. He smiled at Chris, and the feeling he got when the boy smiled back made him wonder why he wanted to hide behind that lonely wall of indifference.

And then he realized Gwen was standing at the edge of the table, looking at them with tears in her eyes and he remembered why.

"You...you..." Gwen couldn't form the words she wanted. She couldn't even begin to decipher what she felt.

"I...mm, didn't kill him?" Even the flat gravely voice could not hide how fed up he was at the repetitive line of thought. Gwen looked hurt and shameful all at once, and the brief moment of eye contact she worked up the courage to make ended as she lowered her eyes to the table top. Richard clenched his jaw over more words he knew he shouldn't say. From the door of his office, Meyer shook his head and steadfastly ignored the 'I told you so' look Charlie was giving him from across the room.

"Mr. Harrow, I am trying, very hard, to not think like that." Her voice was barely loud enough for Richard to hear, and he was two feet from her; Charlie, who was across the room, and Meyer still at his door, were obviously straining to hear what she was saying. "I apologize if I offended you. It was wrong of me to assume that...you, um...did nothing but um...kill everyone you crossed paths with. I just...I mean, the stories and all, and well...Jeff seemed certain you would have killed him and I just didn't know if Chris would be in danger..." She paused to gather her thoughts, maybe come up with one sentence that didn't make her sound like a reactionary idiot, but since that was exactly how she had acted she would find no words to the contrary. Mr. Harrow was a good reminder of why she didn't socialize much: she simply didn't know how. "I know," she finally went on, "words don't make up for how awful I acted towards you, but I really am sorry. And I promise to try and not think you're going to kill Chris every time you show up. I probably won't always succeed, but I will try."

Richard liked it better when she was being a judgemental bitch. So much easier to push down any compassion on his part if it was obvious it wouldn't be appreciated. It wasn't that she was offering friendship with the apology, but the urge to reach out was harder to fight when she wasn't a breath away from hissing and nipping at him like a cornered opossum. He wondered if he would ever overcome this internal conflict; the desire to connect with people versus the urge to hide himself away? He doubted it; it had been a part of him for so long...but like the ruins of his face, his emotions were shredded and unrecognizable, even to him. How much of Gwen's antagonistic attitude was due to what he did, how much due to how he looked and sounded? Unlike some people, she didn't stare at his mask. But then again, she barely made eye contact with anyone so that wasn't something he could accurately judge by. He didn't know, and while he had come right out and asked people before if his mask and scars made them uncomfortable, he didn't want to put Gwen on the spot like that. It would do nothing to ease their awkward interaction, and he was afraid she would honestly answer yes.

"I understand," he finally answered. "I would...mm, assume the worst. If I had someone like me...show up at. Mm, my door." Gwen ducked her head a little lower with guilt, and that more or less confirmed that his appearance bothered her. That hurt, but at least she had the decency not to deny it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "If I was a good person that wouldn't be an issue. That's something else I have to work on." She nervously brushed her fingers over the table top, still avoiding looking up at him. "I was reminded that I hate when people judge Chris because he's deaf, yet I was doing the same to you. It's unforgivable, but I am sorry."

"It's. ...alright. I'm, mm, used...to it." He didn't like it, but he was used to it.

They fell in to an awkward silence. Charlie lit a cigarette, and the sound of the sparkwheel scraping across flint reminded Richard that they were not alone. He cleared his throat and said "It's late. I should...take you home."

"Oh. Um...yes, please. If it's not too much trouble. We can walk if it is."

"It's no ...trouble," Richard said as he stood up. "Besides. Do you even, mm. Know where...we are?" Unless she knew the city by heart and could navigate based on how long they drove between turns, he doubted it. She had never looked up during the car rides to see where they went.

"Of course," she replied, much to his surprise. "We're in Mr. Lansky's office." It took him a moment, but Richard gave a short, coarse chuckle when he realized she had made a joke.

The burst of laughter made Meyer give Charlie his own 'I told you so' look because neither of them had heard him laugh when he was sober. Charlie still doubted and rolled his eyes. Chris had been so occupied with practicing his writing that he hadn't realized there was a conversation going on, but when Richard gently touched his shoulder, he looked up eagerly, thinking it was time for a new word; he was very surprised to discover his mother standing there.

"I see Mr. H taught you something,"she not only signed, but spoke as well.

Chris nodded with great excitement and showed off his words, patiently explaining what each one said. Charlie made his way to Meyer's side and said quietly "Wipe that smug grin off your face, short pants. It ain't gonna work. Richard'll panic and withdrawal."

"Care to place a little wager on that, Salvatore?" Charlie cocked one eyebrow and quirked a small smile. "Then step into my office Mr. Luciano; let us discuss terms."


	16. Chapter 16

More Than Words-Chapter 16

There was a different feel to the tension between Gwen and Richard on the drive to her apartment; Gwen was trying very hard to relax, but Richard found himself slightly nervous now that she was willing to think of him as something other than a killing machine. He was afraid of what she would think of him as time went on, and he didn't know how he should act and react to her. He wanted to pull that blessed wall up and keep things simple between himself and her, but at the same time, he didn't. He was aware of how painfully lonely he was, and the thought of simply talking to someone was appealing. This was one of those moments where he truly wished he was a heartless tin man, inured to emotion. If not that, then could what he was feeling be less confusing? Was it too much to ask for him to, just once, be like everyone else?

He pulled up in front of the apartment building; he and Gwen had spent another car ride in silence, and he wasn't sure if she had looked out the window at all.

Chris had fallen asleep against his mother's shoulder, and Gwen wasn't entirely sure how she was going to maneuver him out of the car without waking him.

"Mr. Harrow?" Despite her efforts to relax, there was a nervous quaver in her voice thanks to her shyness and lack of social graces. "Would you mind terribly sort of pushing Chris towards me when I'm out of the car? I can lift him once he's closer but..." She trailed off, aware that Mr. Harrow probably didn't care.

Richard didn't say anything; he climbed out of the car and went to the passenger side, opening the door for Gwen, who looked at him confused.

"Please...trust me."

"I...I..." She swallowed and looked away when Richard arched an eyebrow. "Alright." She slid out slowly and hovered near the door as Richard reached in and scooped Chris up and out of the car. The boy stirred slightly and instinctively shifted in Richard's arms, snuggling against his chest. Gwen held her arms out, but Richard did not relinquish her son.

"I can manage from here," she said.

"I know," Richard replied, not doubting for one moment that this little woman had hauled her sleeping son up that rickety staircase more than once. "But there is...no reason. Mm, for you to...carry him up tonight."

"Oh. Uh...um..." Gwen wasn't sure if she should protest further. Chris was getting too big for her to carry any more, but at the same time he was her son and her responsibility. She felt uncomfortable letting a man she barely knew carry him up, and in spite of the fact she had invited him in earlier, she was petrified of what Richard would think when he saw the apartment. She was not a proud woman, but she could not bear if he looked at her in a condescending manner, or worse, with pity. But if she insisted on carrying Chris herself, it might seem like she still thought Richard would kill them. She really was trying; for Chris, mostly. Why it was so important to the boy, she didn't know; but he had been right to point out her hypocrisy and she had to work on that for her own peace of mind if nothing else. So she nodded and hurried to open the front door, then proceeded him up the stairs, pointing out two particularly precarious one. Richard didn't say anything, but he had already discovered them for himself the hard way, plus a third he doubted Gwen or Chris weighed enough to disturb. That one he was extra careful on with the sleeping child in his arms; there would be a great deal of horrific irony if he ended up accidentally killing the boy by tumbling down the stairs.

He followed Gwen in to the apartment, quickly noting the the only things he hadn't been able to see from his spying were, two doors on the far wall, a half dozen clotheslines strung in one corner between it and the window wall, and a couch shoved into the other, obviously for support from the walls. Gwen walked to one of the doors and opened it, beckoning Richard to follow. He went after her, stepping in to a small, dark bedroom. He could make out the shape of a narrow bed that was awfully reminiscent of the bed he'd had in basic training; he stepped to the bed and gently settled the boy down, wincing as old springs squealed loudly at the new weight. He looked at Gwen guiltily and said "I'm sorry."

"It's alright. He can't hear it."

"Oh." Jesus dear lord! Open mouth and insert foot, Richard! "Sorry."

"It's alright," Gwen said once more. Richard's head was turned to the right, hiding his embarrassment; Gwen was studying his shoes. Both sensed that something should be said, but neither could, for the life of them, think of what. Richard decided it would be in his best interest to leave. He quickly stepped past Gwen into the kitchen, crossed to the door in three long strides, and quickly pulled it open.

"Good night," he said, looking back over his shoulder.

"Good night, Mr. Harrow," was her soft reply. He gave a small nod that she didn't see and stepped in to the hall, shutting the door softly behind him. He went downstairs as quickly as he dared and rushed to his car, feeling calmer once he was shut inside the steel and glass. He pulled away from the curb, but stopped almost immediately when he noticed something rolling over on the passenger side floor. Upon closer inspection, he saw it was a bottle of whiskey. He looked at it suspiciously for a moment before it dawned on him that Gwen had been holding something when she stepped out of Meyer's office earlier. This must have been what it was; Richard wasn't in the habit of leaving so much illegality in his car. She probably set it down when she was trying to figure out how to get Chris out of the car, and since Richard had taken that matter, quite literally, into his own hands, it was easy to see how she might have forgotten it. He heaved a sigh and climbed out of the car, heading back upstairs to the sparse apartment. The light was still on, not that Richard was surprised; there was probably a large tub of someone else's laundry taking up most of her kitchen floor that she would scrub until dawn, forgoing needed sleep just to earn and extra dollar or two. Richard briefly pictured getting Gwen drunk enough that she passed out, but he didn't dwell on the ridiculous notion. His mind happily supplied a few images of how that plan could so easily go wrong; most of them ended with Gwen screaming loudly for the police.

He knocked softly, just in case she had fallen asleep with the light on; but the door cracked open and her large brown eyes peeked out fearfully before he even lowered his hand.

"You, mm. Forgot this. In my car," he said as he held the bottle out. She turned bright red and uttered a word that still shocked him to hear out of her mouth as she opened the door wide enough that she could reach for the bottle. "Th-thank you," she said, acutely embarrassed for reasons she didn't understand. She could only imagine what he must think of her, but then she realized it didn't matter...she had a bottle of illegal whiskey; this man was responsible for its distribution and the unmentionable repercussions that went with it. Who was he to judge her for owning one small bottle?

"Good night," Richard said once again, turning to leave. But he paused and looked back and advised "Be careful with that. Mm, if you haven't. ...eaten much. It'll hurt... in the morning if. You're not careful."

Gwen eyed the bottle like she suddenly discovered it was a venomous snake. "Oh...um...I...um...here. You take it. I-I can't. I shouldn't...I mean, I don't...I haven't...I-I..." She stepped into the hall and shoved the bottle at Richard, suddenly needing to be rid of it. As soon as the glass brushed his fingers she let go and dashed back to the apartment, shutting the door quickly. Richard was a little confused at her reaction, and more than a little concerned by it. The part of him that cautioned him to stay away was strangely silent, leaving the compassionate, concerned part of him to softly knock on the door and quietly ask if she was alright. There was a long pause, then a slight sound of movement on the door. "I'm...I'm fine, thank you," Gwen replied, her voice shaking and betraying the lie. She wasn't fine, but it would be too complicated for her to explain why his warning had sent her in to a panic. Complicated and embarrassing. Could she admit to this stranger that his well meant warning was one of the kindest things anyone had ever said to her? 'If you haven't eaten much'; did he know she had a small bowl of porridge Monday morning and the dregs of watery soup Wednesday and that was it for the week? Perhaps she should just say she was socially incompetent and strangers made het act squirrely, and let that cover it all?

On the other side of the door, Richard said "I'm sorry. I didn't mean...mm, to frighten you."

"It's...it isn't you, Mr. Harrow. I...I never really know how to...how to talk with people. I-I tend to...I mean, sometimes I..." There was a loud sigh and a muffled thud that shook the door slightly; Gwen had hit the door with her forehead, she was nervous and agitated and hated herself for feeling that way. She couldn't even get a sentence out! "I'm sorry."

Richard didn't know what to do or say. She might say it wasn't him, but he figured it really was. He was off-putting to many people, even himself, still. He supposed it was nice of her to try and put a good face on it by taking the blame, but he would rather she be honest about it.

"There's no need. Mm, to apologize," he said. "Good night."

"Good night, Mr. Harrow." There was a note of relief in her voice, he thought. *Probably because I'm going away. She's probably still convinced I'm a breath away from a shooting spree, no matter what she said about not thinking like that.* He didn't exercise caution going down the stairs, and he almost fell down them when one of the riser boards kicked up under his weight. If the clatter he made trying to save his neck disturbed any one, they didn't care enough to investigate. Someone might question the new hole in the wall there on the third floor landing, but then again, maybe not. This didn't seem like the kind of building whose residents paid attention to anything but their own miserable lives.

He spent the night brooding and trying to make up his mind about how best to handle things. When he made no progress there, he stared at the whiskey bottle and tried to figure out why Meyer had given it to Gwen. Absurd ideas ran through his mind, and a few slightly logical ones. Hell, for all he knew Gwen had asked for it herself. But why had she gone buggy when he told her to be careful with it? He probably should have just kept his mouth shut. This was why he liked it better when she thought the worst of him and made no secret of it: easier to ignore those urges to be nice, less tempting to try and reach out. One small friendly piece of advice and she goes scampering behind a door! Was he that frightening? Did his condition bother her THAT much? Why, in the name of all that was holy, did he think her apology and promise to think better of him was an invitation to something deeper than their stilted, uncomfortable interactions?

And then there was her son, who was too fucking likable for his own good. He seemed perfectly fine with Richard, and Richard was sure if they could understand each other, they would have some wonderful conversations. Richard had always liked and been good with children. They were easier to get to know, usually more honest when they presented who they were. They were fun, and the things they said and thought were often amazing. They weren't yet jaded by life, and they could find joy in the simplest things.

Richard realized part of his problem was that Gwen and Chris reacted to him so differently. If they both feared him, he would not be having this dilemma. Maybe he should discourage Chris? Surely Gwen would be more than happy to help with that. Meyer needed to figure out what he was going to do with Gwen so she could pay off Jeff's debt and Richard could stop having to deal with them. Of course, if he had just shot Jeff Taylor after his father had raked him over the coals none of this would be an issue.

Richard eventually wandered to his bedroom and laid down, and although his mind was still trying to make some sense of the confusion he was battling, he finally fell asleep just as the sun gave blush to the eastern sky; visited by dreams of words unspoken and emotional connections that would never be.


End file.
